


Gravity Rises: Genius Loci [Episode One]

by BrightnessWings19



Series: Gravity Rises Season Two [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gravity Rises, Episode One, Gen, Sorophora, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightnessWings19/pseuds/BrightnessWings19
Summary: Mabel and Dipper find a secret room in the Mystery Museum, but Ford refuses to explain what it is. Feeling hurt that he won't confide in her, Mabel is determined to discover what Ford is hiding, even without his approval. Meanwhile, Pacifica Pleasure has to face the aftermath of her battle with the Pines, and no one is quite sure how to help her.[Parallel to: Scary-Oke]~~~~~~Series Blurb~~~~~~Things That Were Still Not on Mabel Pines' Bucket List (Even After Finding Adventure):1) Finding old secrets buried beneath the town of Gravity Rises2) Reanimating the dead3) Searching for the missing Journals with their Author and her twin brother4) Getting attacked by abandoned monsters5) Discovering a cult6) BeInG pOsEsSeD bY a DrEaM dEmOn7) Possibly maybe kinda falling for that Northwest kid??The winter isn't over yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gravity Rises AU originally created by Sorophora. While I did not create these characters, I have put some of my own details and twists into this series and therefore consider this work (but not the AU) my own.
> 
> Work originally posted on Wattpad.
> 
> When commenting on this work, please do not swear.

In an underground room, a single candle illuminated a man in sweeping purple robes. He sat at an old wooden desk, a book open in front of him, a small pile of dusty tomes stacked on top of the desk behind his work space. The silence seeped through his old bones; the darkness rolled across his robes in waves. The inaudible whispers of long-dead authors, their thoughts and lives preserved in the books they had penned, danced across his vision in the shadows of the candlelight. This library was far more alive than he. This he knew, and this he accepted.

The words pressed into the page of the book he was studying refused to penetrate into his brain. It was late, and this candlelight was terrible for his aging eyes. The author of the book, a heretic whose words had somehow been immortalized in the library of the very organization he opposed, pounded his opinions into the man’s head, but that resulted only in a headache.

The man sighed silently and closed the book. He had known it would be fruitless to try to read at this time of night, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. He often came down to the library when he couldn’t sleep. Somehow, he related to the writers of these books, some orthodox, some heretical,  some insane. Sometimes he felt as if he was already one of them, nothing but a whisper reverberating around the occasional reader’s skull.

Better for him to try to sleep again. He stood up, sliding his wooden chair against the stone floor with the utmost care, so as to not disturb the resting books. He tucked the book under his arm in order to put it away; best that his followers not know that he studied the words of heretics on occasion.

His footsteps were soft against the stone as he left his desk and glided down the shelves, the book in one hand and his candle in the other. He found the spot on the shelf, a thick gaping hole between two equally thick volumes. He eased the book into the space, fitting it snugly between its neighbors. Holding up the candle to make sure none of the books were out of place, he nodded in satisfaction and turned to go back upstairs to his chambers.

Upon turning the corner, a soft blue glow intervened with his orange candlelight.

The man paused, waiting for the trespasser in his library to turn around and see him.

There was a _thud_ as the boy in front of him dropped the book he was holding onto the desk, shattering the silence of the library. “B-Blind Lincoln!”

“Young Northwest,” Blind Lincoln greeted, nodding slightly.

Gideon Northwest extinguished his amulet, staring at Lincoln with the expression of a child caught with their hand in the summoning circle. “I-I was just—doing some research.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Lincoln replied calmly. “I would have expected you to be soundly asleep in your mansion.”

Gideon’s gaze slid away from Lincoln’s. Though Lincoln couldn’t see well in the candlelight, he thought the skin around Gideon’s eyes glinted with a wet sheen. Had the boy been crying?

Intriguing. He would’ve thought Northwests were not allowed to cry.

“I couldn’t sleep,” was Gideon’s reply. “And I thought. . . it’d be quiet here.”

 The same reasons that had brought Blind Lincoln down these stairs. “I don’t recall giving you access to this library.”

Gideon’s already-pale face whitened another shade. “Oh—I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

Lincoln waved away the protests with his hand. “You aren’t used to asking permission for things. I understand. I’ll overlook it, this once—”

Gideon sighed in relief.

“—if you show me what exactly you’re researching.”

Another shade of white. Gideon’s freckles popped out on his cheeks. “O—oh. I was, um, just looking for books about—the amulet.” The last word cut off awkwardly, like he had stopped halfway through it, despite saying the whole word.

Intriguing. Blind Lincoln didn’t think he had ever heard Gideon Northwest stutter before. Then again, everyone was different in a dark, secluded night. Lincoln knew that better than anyone.

“Why is that?” Lincoln asked.

Gideon fidgeted in his chair. “Just. . . because. It was the first thing I thought of.”

Lincoln paused, studying Gideon’s face. A long silence drew out between them as Lincoln waited for the boy to be sufficiently uncomfortable.

“I would advise you against lying to me,” Blind Lincoln said. Gideon shrank away, fear in his face. Good.

“But,” Lincoln continued, “because it is late, and you seem distressed for reasons that may not be my business to know, I will let it slide. Remember my mercy tonight, young Northwest.”

“O-of course,” Gideon said. He stood up, clearly understanding Lincoln’s unsaid dismissal. His chair scraped against the stone. “Thank you, Blind Lincoln. I won’t forget.” He added a bow for good measure.

Lincoln nodded in return. Gideon started for the stairs that would lead him back to the world above.

He paused on the bottommost step and turned around.

“Will. . . will you mention this to my father?” he asked carefully.

Lincoln looked into the boy’s eyes. “You’re trying my patience,” he replied. “But no. I will not. If I do not see you down here without my permission again.”

“Of course.” He strode up a few steps, then glanced over his shoulder. “T-thank you.”

Lincoln nodded.

Gideon turned and hurried up the stairs, the scuff of his shoes against the stone echoing around the library.

Blind Lincoln stood still for a few minutes, waiting for the silence to once again settle over the library. He would not leave until he was sure the authors were once again asleep in their tomes. So he stayed, watching the flickering of his candlelight on the walls, until not a sound remained.

Once he was satisfied, he took careful steps towards the stairs, gazed around the empty library one more time, and then blew out his candle.

The whispers of the writers disappeared with the light.


	2. Chapter 2

Mabel Pines crept down wooden stairs illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. She was overwhelmed with confusion and fear; she half expected some horror movie monster to jump out of nowhere and eat her. She clung to her twin brother’s arm as the two descended.

“You said Ford came down here?” Mabel asked. Her brother Dipper nodded. He had woken her up in the middle of the night claiming he had seen their great uncle, Stanford Pines, come through this secret passageway. Sneaking down to the gift shop of Ford’s business, the Mystery Museum, they had discovered the vending machine was a door hiding a mysterious staircase leading underground.

The staircase Mabel was now descending.

“Yeah,” Dipper said. “He was moving weird, too. Like he was sleepwalking. Or zombified.” He said this last part in an ominous voice.

Mabel nudged him in the side. “Quit it. This is too creepy for zombie jokes.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Mabel’s bare foot scuffed against the rough wood, driving a sliver into her heel. She hissed, bending down to pull it out. She should’ve at least thought to put on socks, like Dipper.

“Mabes, look,” Dipper said.

They were in a small, bare room at the base of the stairs. Old wooden supports jutted out from bare rock on two sides, with rusty metal pipes lacing the top of the walls. In front of them, opposite the stairs, a brick wall displayed cobwebs, grime, and an elevator set into its mortar.

“Do—do you think Grunkle Ford went down there?” Mabel asked. Her voice echoed dully around the small room.

“Looks like it,” Dipper replied, taking a step toward the elevator.

“W-wait!” Mabel grabbed his arm. “That thing looks really old. What if we can’t even get inside?”

“We might as well try.”

“What if it breaks down while we’re in it and we’re trapped in there forever like _The Twilight Region_? We can’t go in there!”

“Mabes—”

“But then what if Ford is hurt down there? O-or what if he’s doing something secret and would get angry at us for following him? I just barely got on his good side again, Dip, I can’t make him mad again! B-but he could be hurt o-or need our help o-or—”

“ _Mabes!_ ”

She stopped and looked at him.

“Mabel,” Dipper said slowly, “we’re going into that elevator.”

“Of course we are,” Mabel said, “but—”

“Then why are you freaking out about it?” Dipper demanded.

“Because I _have_ to freak out about it!” She stomped across the room over to the elevator and reached for the doors. Then she shied back, staring up at the imposing metal doors.

She heard Dipper’s muffled footsteps behind her after a few moments. “You done?”

Mabel took a deep breath, nodded, and braced her hands on the elevator doors.

It took the twins a minute or two to force the doors open. With one on each side, pulling apart from the tiny space in the middle, they managed to slide the doors open enough to slip through. As she turned to go sideways through the opening, Mabel noticed a keypad to the side of the elevator, and felt a sudden relief at not having to guess a code to open it.

Once both twins were in the elevator, it rumbled, and the doors closed again. Mabel instinctively linked her arm through Dipper’s, watching anxiously as metal confines enclosed them in total darkness. She wasn’t claustrophobic or anything; in fact, she liked small spaces. She _didn’t_ like old abandoned elevators that may or may not plunge her to her doom.

The elevator started moving with no plunging involved.

“What do you think is down there?” Mabel whispered, her voice small in the darkness.

“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper replied.

Mabel elbowed him. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

The elevator thudded to a stop, and the doors slid open. A distant yellow light reached Mabel’s eyes, but she couldn’t see what lay between it and her. It shown through what looked like a doorway, but it was far enough away that Mabel feared running into something or tripping on her way over to it.

“C’mon,” Dipper whispered. “I think that’s Ford’s light.”

“What if it isn’t?” Mabel whispered back.

“Then we’ll find out.”

Dipper stepped out of the elevator, pulling Mabel along with the arm that was linked with hers. They started cautiously down the passageway, stepping slowly, going straight towards the light, which was ahead and slightly to their right.

As Mabel’s eyes adjusted, she started to make out shapes in the darkness. The twins were walking through a narrow passageway through rows of bulky objects that formed walls around them. At the end of the passage was the doorway through which the light was showing, but also what appeared to be a window to the left, with a few rays of light peeking around its corner.

The twins made it to the doorway without running into anything, and stopped just before it, glancing at each other. Dipper nodded, and Mabel bit her lip.

They stepped through the doorway.

The light they had followed came from a lantern on the floor. Next to it, sure enough, was Stanford Pines, kneeling on the ground and staring up at the far wall. He didn’t see the twins.

Mabel suppressed a gasp as she looked around the room. They were in a cavern of stone, its walls held back by wooden supports that crisscrossed the walls. At the far end of the room, where Ford was staring, was a giant metal triangle, upside down and easily five times as tall as Mabel. A perfect circular hole in its center reminded Mabel somewhat of an upside-down Bill Cipher.

And Ford was simply sitting and staring at it.

Mabel and Dipper exchanged looks again, and Dipper opened his mouth, but Mabel shook her head violently. She had no idea what to do, but she had a really bad feeling about disturbing Ford. And about this room. And about the fact that there was a _secret underground vault beneath the Mystery Museum._

Dipper gestured silently towards Ford, and Mabel shook her head again. Dipper spread his arms in a “why not?” gesture, and Mabel stabbed the air with a hand to show her frustration. The two kept gesturing violently at each other, Dipper clearly wanting to get Ford’s attention and Mabel wanting to get out of there before he—

“Kids?”

The twins froze.

Ford had turned to see them and was staring at them with wide eyes. Mabel felt her blood freeze up in her arteries as she braced herself for him to start yelling at them.

“How did you get down here?” Ford asked softly.

Mabel didn’t answer, too shocked from not being yelled at.

“We followed you,” Dipper said, taking a small step towards his great uncle. “Grunkle Ford. . . What is this place?”

Ford blinked slowly at his grandnephew, then turned back to look at the humongous triangle across the room.

“I don’t know.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean. . . I know. . . I built it, but. . . I don’t know.”

Mabel and Dipper glanced at each other, then went to Ford’s side. Dipper kneeled next to him, Mabel standing nearby.

“Something happened down here,” Ford continued. His voice sounded distant, like he wasn’t really talking to the twins, but to himself. “Something terrible. It’s coursing through me. . . Can you feel it?”

He looked up at Mabel.

“Um—I—” She could feel something, but it was mostly a sense of foreboding from being down in this ominous cavern. “Not really.”

Ford nodded like he expected that, then gazed up at the triangle again. “Why can’t I remember? I _know_ something happened down here, I know it, but. . . I don’t know what. I can’t even. . . remember what this is.”

“The triangle thingy?” Dipper asked.

“Yes. . . Until Mabel gave me my Journal, I. . . I had forgotten this laboratory was even down here.” He looked up at them again. “How could I forget that?”

Mabel glanced past him to see the Journal on the floor in front of him. Its maroon cover gleamed in the lantern light, and the bold black 3 on top of the golden six-fingered hand sat comfortably atop it. Mabel had found the Journal out in the woods weeks ago, but had only given it back to its rightful owner, Ford, earlier that same day. It had been stolen from him years ago.

“Wait,” Dipper said, “you forgot there was a big cave underneath your own house? With this huge upside-triangle thing that you built?”

“Yes,” Ford said softly. “There’s something else. . . Something important that I’m missing. . . Something. . . To do with the Journals. . . .”

 Dipper opened his mouth to reply, but Mabel shushed him with a shake of her head. Ford was onto something here, she could feel it. His train of thought couldn’t be interrupted.

“The Journals. . . I wrote three Journals. . . All three. . . You need all three to. . . activate the. . . .”

He gasped and jerked back.

“ _Lee!_ ”

The singled shouted word reverberated around the cavern, bouncing off the metal triangle and back into Mabel’s ears. A leeching silence followed it, sucking all feeling off Mabel’s skin. A shiver ran up her spine.

“G-Grunkle Ford?” Dipper whispered.

Mabel looked down and nearly jumped back in surprise. There were _tears_ on Ford’s face. They flowed freely down to his chin, dripping onto his lap.

Stanford Pines was _crying_.

“F-Ford!” Mabel dropped to her knees beside him, wanting to comfort him somehow, but having no idea what to do. “Wh-what is it? Who’s Lee?”

Ford buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shuddered with a deep, broken breath.

“Lee. . .,” he whispered. “How could I. . . how could I forget. . . .”

 “Forget?” Dipper asked. “Grunkle Ford. . . Who is it? What happened?”

Ford wouldn’t answer. His breaths were spasmodic, his eyes covered by his hands. Mabel found her gaze tracing the outline of his fingers. Six fingers on each hand. The mark of the Author of the Journals.

Finally, Ford’s breathing settled into a normal rhythm, and he sat up, wiping his eyes. With one last deep breath, he turned to the twins.

“Go back to bed.”

Mabel started. “What?”

Ford’s eyes were hardening back into their standard steel. “I said, go back to bed. You two aren’t to be down here.”

Mabel and Dipper shared a shocked look.

“Grunkle Ford. . . ,” Dipper began. “Are you okay? You were just—”

“I’m fine,” Ford said, his voice clipped. “Now, go back to the elevator, and—oh, never mind. I’m coming with you.”

He got to his feet, bracing a hand against his knee, tucking the Journal into his coat and picking up the lantern. Mabel and Dipper jumped up too, their twin senses going haywire. Something was wrong with their grunkle, who was very obviously hiding something from them, and they didn’t know what to do about it.

So they let themselves be led away.

The elevator was more cramped with all three of them, and Ford’s lantern cast eerie shadows around the small space. Mabel and Dipper spent the elevator ride mentally daring each other to speak up first. Neither were brave enough.

When the elevator shuddered to a stop, the Pines stepped out and started up the staircase back up to the world above. Mabel’s eyes traced the collar of Ford’s trenchcoat as she followed behind him, trying to see if he looked tenser than usual. She found herself getting frustrated—of course Ford would pretend like nothing had happened after they had seen him cry. She never thought she would see him break down like that, and now he wouldn’t even own up to it.

Mabel’s bare foot found the top of the stairs, and she moved into the gift shop. Ford waited by the vending machine until Dipper had joined Mabel, and then closed it behind them. It swung shut like a door, sealing with a slight sucking sound.

“Good night,” Ford said to the twins.

Nope. Mabel couldn’t just leave him with him acting like this. They had just made up earlier in the evening, and she didn’t want him mad again, but he wasn’t trusting them. Again. Not even enough to tell them why he was so sad.

“Grunkle Ford,” she said carefully, brushing her hand against Dipper’s to take some of his courage. “We’ll go to bed, but you have to tell us what just happened in the morning. We want you to trust us.”

She could see Dipper nodding in her periphery.

“Please?” she added for good measure.

Ford studied the two of them. “We can discuss it later,” he finally said. “For now, get some sleep, alright?”

Mabel found this answer vague and unconvincing, but it was better than nothing. “Okay.”

Dipper stepped forward and hugged Grunkle Ford. “Good night.” He pulled back and smiled up at his great uncle.

Mabel wanted to follow suit, but wasn’t sure how Ford would react. She ended up giving him an awkward side hug before moving back towards Dipper, who was in the gift shop doorway. “’Night.”

Ford offered a faint smile. “Good night.”

The trek up to the attic was silent until the twins were back in bed. Dipper took a deep breath. “Okay, what did we just see?”

“I don’t know,” Mabel said, staring up at the rafters in the darkness.

“What do you think that big metal thing was? And who Lee is? And why—”

“Dipper,” Mabel said wearily, “can we get some sleep?”

There was a beat of silence. “Okay,” Dipper replied. Mabel could tell he was reluctant to stop talking—he figured things out best by thinking out loud—but she couldn’t stand to listen. A heavy weight had descended over her chest, making it hard to think. Ford still didn’t trust her. He was confused about something, something that made him—him!—cry, and he didn’t trust her or Dipper enough to tell them.

She thought they had made some progress earlier that night, but. . . apparently not.

So instead of thinking about it, she’d rather just have gone back to sleep.

“Mabel,” came Dipper’s voice in the darkness. He paused before continuing. “I’m sure Ford will tell us about it in the morning. He seemed disoriented, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said noncommittally. She wasn’t so sure.

“Good night, Mabel,” Dipper said softly.

Mabel rolled over and closed her eyes. She didn’t respond.


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick “Bud” Pleasure found his hands trembling as he set out plates for breakfast.

One for him. One for his wife, who sat smiling dreamily up at him.

One for Pacifica.

Bud slid the plate onto the table as if it would bite him. It sat innocently at Pacifica’s empty place, and for a moment it seemed like a normal plate for a normal girl.

Then a frustrated scream shook the walls.

Bud winced and backed away from the table, as if the plate he set out for Pacifica had been the one to scream. But no, the scream had come from the girl herself, who had yet to venture out of her room since being dropped off last night by the Northwest boy.

Last night had been the hardest one Bud had ever had to live through. He still remembered the sensation of curling up underneath his covers, shivering in a cold that wasn’t really there, wishing he could fall asleep as easily and peacefully as his wife Catherine. But his daughter hadn’t slept, either. Instead, she had kept Bud up all night with her screams.

And now, even with the morning sun streaming through the windows to give him strength, Bud waited in terror for his daughter to come out.

“It’s so nice that Pacifica is staying with us,” Catherine said pleasantly.

Bud glanced at his wife, a helpless frustration washing over him. Even after six years of her condition, he still wasn’t sure how much Catherine understood, but it was clear he was the only one in this room who felt the fear that swirled through the room. Didn’t Catherine hear the screams? Didn’t she see Gideon Northwest on their doorstep yesterday, holding their unconscious daughter in his arms, informing them that she was broken?

A door banged down the hallway. Bud jumped.

“Here she comes.” Catherine smiled at her husband. “You made her favorite, didn’t you, honey?”

_Her favorite._

Bud turned and hurried into the kitchen, where he flipped the eggs on the stove and prayed they weren’t burned. They looked fine. He breathed a sigh of relief, and decided to stay here in the kitchen for a while, where it was a little less stifling.

“Good morning, Pacifica, darling.”

Bud squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t leave Cathy alone out there, but. . . he’d rather just stay in here. . . .

No. Bud Pleasure knew he was a coward, but he couldn’t just leave Pacifica and Catherine alone out there.

He flipped the eggs one more time and picked up the pan, balancing a plate of toast in the other hand. Then, plastering on his best Happy Family smile, he exited the kitchen.

“Pacifica, I’m glad you’re awake! I made you some breakfast.”

He got his first view of his daughter and faltered. Pacifica’s smoky grey eyes were staring to the left of Bud’s face, framed by splotchy purple make-up that was far less precise than her usual impeccable look. Her hair stuck out at strange angles, the loop of hair that was usually tucked under her headband now a ratty mess, starchy with hairspray. She had on the same clothes she’d had on yesterday: her black shawl and bell-shaped purple dress with moon designs on the skirt over black stockings, but now unkempt, her skirt crumpled and her shawl sitting askew on her shoulders. Where her amulet usually sat on her collarbone was an empty space. Bud found his eyes drawn to the spot. He hadn’t seen Pacifica without her amulet in six years.

Pacifica tried to sit daintily in the chair Bud had pulled up for her, but she misjudged where the chair was and nearly fell off. Bud’s fear tripled. He’d never seen his daughter so. . . decomposed.

“Did you sleep well?” Catherine asked politely as Bud set the eggs and toast on the table.

Pacifica slowly turned to look at her mother, but her eyes never quite reached Catherine’s. Then he took a long, deep breath. Bud braced himself for the worst.

“The smoke is fading in and out,” Pacifica said.

Her words were slow and careful and slurred, her tone slightly confused but mostly expressionless. And Bud had no idea what she meant.

“What’s that, darling?” Bud asked.

Pacifica swung her gaze to the space beside her father’s head. “Do think clearly, Daddy,” she said in that same emotionless voice. “It’s unbecoming. You know, when he told me about what you’ve been hiding, I didn’t believe him at first. Such a lovely yellow glow.”

Bud tried to catch everything, but Pacifica wasn’t speaking clearly, and it didn’t seem like she was saying anything that made sense. He did pick up on one phrase, however.

_What you’ve been hiding._

Bud suppressed a shiver and moved to serve the eggs. “Here, Pacifica, have some breakfast.”

Pacifica stared at him with no response. Bud decided not to say anything, and started scooping some eggs onto Pacifica’s plate. A minute or two passed in silence as Bud moved from Pacifica’s plate to Catherine’s to his.

“I’m not hungry,” Pacifica said suddenly. “But I wondered why the carpet was white. I suppose rich people need everything to look as clean as possible.” She looked expectantly as Bud, as if waiting for him to agree.

“Yes,” Catherine said with a nod.

Bud finished serving himself and sat down, feeling that helpless frustration again. Of course. Now both his wife and his daughter were crazy. And they were speaking a language he didn’t know.

 _Just keep acting like everything is fine_ , Bud told himself, taking a bite of his food.

“Daddy,” Pacifica said, “why didn’t you tell me I was the heir to a cult?”

Bud choked on his eggs.

It took a good few minutes to cough, take a gulp of water, and be able to breathe again. Pacifica sat, waiting patiently, the whole time. She seemed disinterested in Bud, even after what she had just asked him. Her plate of food was untouched.

Finally, Bud found the ability to speak. “What do you mean, dear?”

“He told me,” Pacifica said. “He said you were a part of a group, and you were supposed to be in charge, but you were too weak. And now I can be in charge. It’s in my blood.” She frowned down at the eggs and toast sitting before her. “These are cold.”

 _No they aren’t, you haven’t even touched them!_ Bud wanted to scream. But he restrained himself and said, “Who told you, sweetie?” _How on earth can she know?_

Pacifica looked up at him, her gaze once again settling just next to his head instead of into his eyes. “It’s okay, he isn’t mad at you,” she said.

Bud clenched a fist under the table. “Who told you about the group?” he said, straining to keep his voice patient.

“We really must tell my agent I’m not doing shows anymore.”

 _Never mind._ “Why wouldn’t you be doing shows anymore, darling?”

“I do love your show,” Catherine said. She’d gone every night since Pacifica had gotten back in town some weeks ago. Not that Pacifica ever noticed.

Bud’s eyes once again flicked to the place where Pacifica’s amulet should have been. “Is it because. . . your. . . .” He didn’t dare finish.

Pacifica picked up her fork and started prodding at her eggs. “How can I do a show when I’m busy running the Order?”

 _The Order_.

She really did know.

“Sweetie,” Bud said carefully, “there’s already a leader of the Order.”

“He said I could be in charge,” Pacifica replied.

“Blind Lincoln?” Bud asked in surprise.

Pacifica didn’t seem to hear him. She kept pushing her food around her plate.

“Pacifica. . . Darling. . . .”

She looked up at him, thirty seconds after he’d said her name.

“Will you tell me how you know about the Order?”

Pacifica’s eyes flicked around Bud’s head, as if she was looking at something behind him. Bud turned, but nothing was there.

“Why are you thinking that?” Pacifica asked sharply.

Bud whipped back around. Pacifica’s hands were braced on the table, and she was staring intently at the space beside Bud’s left ear.

“Wh-what?”

_She has mind powers, of course she has mind powers, she has powers just like the Northwest boy, but you turned a blind eye!_

Wait. . . but. . . if the amulet was gone. . . .

“You want me dead!” Pacifica said. “You’re thinking—you’re thinking you’re going to kill me—so I can’t lead the Order—you have an assassin just outside!”

The scariest thing was that while her voice got louder, her tone was still flat.

“No—no, darling, I’m not thinking that at all!” Bud said. And he wasn’t! Sure, he was thinking that he was afraid, that something was terribly wrong with his daughter, but he certainly wasn’t wanting her _dead_.

“Don’t try to hide it, Daddy,” Pacifica said. “I can see your thoughts.” She brought up a hand and started tracing it through the air. “Floating around your big bald head. I’ve always wondered why men go bald but women don’t.”

“You. . . you have?” Bud asked. He was completely lost, but at least talking about balding wasn’t talking about assassination.

Pacifica was done with that topic, however. “Who are you sending to kill me?” she asked. “Nobody can get past my powers. You do know that, Daddy? Is it Gideon? He has powers too but he’s not as strong as me. Blue is a much uglier color than purple, don’t you think?”

“I think all the colors are beautiful,” Catherine said helpfully.

Even though Pacifica was still talking slowly, Bud felt everything spiraling quickly out of control. If there’d been any control in the first place. “Purple is a great color,” he tried.

Pacifica nodded in satisfaction. “I always say that if you can’t think something intelligent—”

Then she screamed.

Bud was so startled he nearly fell out of his chair. One moment she had been talking about. . . something. . . in that deadpan voice, and the next she had been screeching at the top of her lungs, pointing to something behind her father. Bud’s pulse raced as he turned around, but there was nothing there, just the wall and a small painting of a starlit landscape.

But Pacifica was still screaming.

Bud jumped out of his chair. “What is it? Pacifica, what’s wrong?” He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she stopped screaming long enough to recoil as if he had shocked her. Then she screamed again, standing up and knocking her chair to the ground.

“Get away!” she screeched, staring with wide eyes at the blank wall. “You can’t get me! Get away! I’ll kill you!”

“Pacifica!” Bud shouted. “Pacifica, darling, nothing’s there.” He found he was crying. “Nothing’s there, darling, it’s okay, you’re safe!”

Pacifica whirled on him. “You did this! You sent her! It’s not going to work! She can’t get me!”

“Who?” Bud pleaded. “Who’s there? I didn’t send anyone!”

But Pacifica had turned her attention back to whoever she thought was standing on the other side of the table. “Stay away!” she shouted. “You’re too weak! You can’t hurt me! Not anymore!” She backed away, fear in her eyes. “Stop! Stay away from me! Stay away from me, you freak!”

“Pacifica, please—”

She turned and fled the room, stumbling over her own feet. A moment later, the door to her bedroom slammed. The sound echoed down the hall into the dining room.

Catherine took a bite of her eggs.

Bud looked desperately at his wife, wishing he could be as unperturbed as she. “Catherine. Catherine! Did you see anything?”

Catherine looked up at him and blinked. “No,” she said. Then she smiled. “Did you?”

The tear tracks on Bud’s cheeks were once again wet. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He grabbed his coat off the hook and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Out on the porch, he leaned against the railing and took heavy breaths. They weren’t enough. Nothing was enough.

Something flashed blue in Bud’s periphery, but when he turned to look, nothing was there. So he put his head down on his arms and started to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Mabel entered the kitchen to hear the welcome sounds of cheerful humming and frying bacon.

She pulled her dull orange sweater around her as a draft floated through the old Museum walls. Melody Ramirez, Mystery Museum employee and housekeeper for Ford, sang to herself as she flipped bacon and buttered toast. She was wearing an old nightshirt of Ford’s over some sweats, having slept here at the Museum last night after their crazy day yesterday.

Though _crazy day_ might have been an understatement.

Yesterday, the Pines (Melody an honorary member) fought for their home against the insane and powerful Pacifica Pleasure, who had stolen it and kidnapped Dipper as part of some crazy scheme to make him fall in love with her. This obviously didn’t work, but she had almost defeated them with her magical amulet that gave her the power to read minds, levitate things, and, as Mabel learned yesterday, create a huge astral projection bigger than a house that could squash anything in its way. Luckily, Mabel had managed to take the amulet from her, and she and Dipper had smashed it. They had won, and gotten their home back, but the effects of destroying Pacifica’s amulet still chilled Mabel at the thought of it. The girl had completely lost it, started screaming at the top of her lungs and eventually collapsed. Gideon Northwest—the _jerk_ who had pretended to be on Mabel’s side only to betray her to Pacifica—had crept out of the woodwork and taken her home.

Now that Mabel thought about it, it was a wonder she had been able to sleep last night.

“G’mornin’, Mabel!” Melody said, setting a plate out in front of her. “You’re the first one I’ve seen up yet.”

“Morning,” Mabel said, lowering herself stiffly into a chair. She had a plethora of bruises from yesterday, and they were all tender now that it was morning. “Dipper is up, he’s just not downstairs yet. Have you seen Ford?” She wanted to ask him about the other crazy part of their day: last night, down in the secret basement.

“Not up,” Melody said. “But when I went to check on him earlier he looked fitful. He wasn’t moving or anythin’, but his face was all scrunched up. Made his worry lines stick out. He usually looks like that after a rough day.”

Mabel frowned. “You’ve checked on him in his sleep before?” That just sounded weird.

Melody smiled and shrugged. “I usually come over early to make sure he’s doing all right and start breakfast. I am legally his caretaker, y’know. In case his old age catches up with him and he starts goin’ batty. But that hasn’t happened, he just overworks that big brain of his sometimes.”

Mabel hadn’t known that Melody was his caretaker. She just thought she cleaned the house, led tours of the Museum, made meals, and sometimes drove Ford places (sharing that job with Robbie, his other employee). Though, now that she thought about it, those did all sound like caretaker-y jobs.

“Is that bacon?” came a hopeful voice.

Mabel didn’t turn, but she did hear Dipper’s feet on the wooden floor as he bounced into the kitchen. He always had a lot of energy in the mornings. Mabel figured every time he slept, it recharged his energy meter which then slowly depleted throughout the day. It never depleted far, but he always seemed to be most hyper at the beginning of each day.

“That it is,” Melody said, “and it’s nearly ready. You get a good night’s rest, Dipper?”

Dipper sat down beside Mabel and glanced at her before saying. “Yep!” Mabel realized he was probably wondering whether or not to tell Melody about following Ford down into the basement.

“That’s good,” Melody said, moving the pan of bacon around on the stove. “So what got y’all up in the middle of the night last night?”

Well, that solved that dilemma.

“How do you know we were up?” Mabel asked.

“I heard you come down the stairs. First Ford, then Dipper, then Dipper up the stairs again, then both of you down.”

“You can tell who’s going down the stairs just by listening?” Dipper asked.

Melody smiled. “The step of an old man is quite different from the step of an energetic thirteen-year-old.”

“Point taken,” Dipper said.

“So what was going on?” Melody asked.

Mabel’s eyes traced the spatula in Melody’s hand. “Melody,” she said, “did you know there’s a basement?”

Melody frowned. “Here in the Museum? There’s a basement?”

“Yeah!” Dipper said. “It’s crazy, the entrance is behind the vending machine, and it swings open like a door and there’s this creepy staircase—I saw Ford go down there last night so I got Mabel and we followed him—and he was down in this—”

“I should hope,” came a stern voice, “you’re not talking about last night.”

Mabel turned to see Ford in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms folded. He looked like he had been awake for days, rather than asleep just minutes before. His grey hair was mussed up above his head, and Mabel could’ve ran a finger across each of his wrinkles, the way they were sticking out. The expression behind those wrinkles was one Mabel did not want to antagonize.

“You said you would tell us what was going on in the morning,” Mabel said carefully.

“I said we would discuss it later,” Ford said, his voice hard. She _knew_ she shouldn’t have let him get away with that wording.

“Mr. Pines,” Melody said, flipping the bacon before turning to him. “Is it true there’s a basement in this building?”

Ford ran a hand down the side of his face and sighed. “Yes,” he replied, eyes closed, “but it’s private. I don’t want any of you worrying about it.”

“Too late,” Dipper said. “Who’s Lee?”

Ford swung his piercing gaze to his nephew. “No one you know. Now, drop this, and let’s eat breakfast.”

“You can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said softly.

“Just because you are not in the know does not mean something doesn’t exist,” Ford replied, his voice getting even more tense. “I’m choosing to keep this to myself and I have every right to do so.”

Dipper opened his mouth, but Mabel put a hand on his arm and shook her head. Ford obviously wasn’t in a place to talk about this. She wouldn’t let it go completely, but. . . they might as well drop it for now.

Melody served the bacon, along with some toast, and Mabel started eating mechanically. The food was delicious—greasy, crisp bacon with buttery, crunchy toast—but her mind was down in the basement, last night, trying to figure out everything she’d seen.

After a few minutes of tense silence (aside from occasional compliments to the chef) Dipper spoke up. “I know what all you grumpy gills need!”

Mabel looked warily across at her twin. What had gotten into his head now?

“What?” Melody asked.

“A party!”

Of course. Mabel couldn’t find the words to tell Dipper how bad an idea that was.

“No,” Ford said, and turned back to his food like the conversation was over.

“But the Mystery Museum hasn’t been opened in days!” Dipper said. “Nobody knows why, but _we_ know why, and we fought a giant magical girl to get it back. I think that deserves a celebration!”

“That’s a great idea, Dip,” Melody said, smiling.

No, it wasn’t a great idea. Dipper didn’t understand that parties never magically fixed things. They tended to make things worse. At least for Mabel.

“I’m not putting on a party,” Ford said.

“You don’t have to,” Dipper said. “I’ll plan it, and I’m sure Melody will help.”

“Sure thing I will.”

“All we need is a place to hold it. Like that big room in the middle of the Museum halls.”

“That’s my lab!” Ford protested. “This isn’t happening.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Pines,” Melody said, gesturing at him with her fork. “If we charge admission, this might just make up for the money you’ve lost the past couple days.”

Ford was silent for a moment.

“Mabel, what do you think?” he finally asked.

Mabel froze. Why was he asking her? She thought he was mad at her! “U-um,” she said, “I don’t really like parties, but. . . Dipper always throws really good ones. . . and I bet Melody would be a great help too. . . .” Oh, what the heck. This might not make things better for her, but it certainly would for Dipper. And who was she to deprive him of his fun after the week they’d just had? “And I can design the flyers.”

Ford let out a long breath. “Fine,” he said.

“Yes!” Dipper yelled.

“ _But_ ,” Ford cut in, “you don’t go into my lab until I say you can. You don’t let people anywhere in the house but the lab—”

“The party room,” Dipper said excitedly.

“—the bathroom, and the gift shop. And I get to choose when and how long it is. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Dipper answered, giving Ford a mock salute. His serious look dissolved into a grin. “Thank you Grunkle Ford!”

“Yes, well,” Ford grumbled, “I did lose money with this whole incident.” He finished his last bite and stood up to clear his place.

Mabel figured it wasn’t just about the money. Ford had to care about Dipper somewhere in there.

Dipper swallowed a bite of bacon and braced his hands on the table. “Alright. Plans. Talk to me, people.”

“Dance party,” Melody said. “We set up a food table, a DJ area, maybe an area for some party games, and use the rest of the space for a dance floor.”

“Perfect!” Dipper said. “Wait, who do we know that can DJ? Robbie?”

Melody snorted. “Robbie may have a guitar, but I doubt he knows how to DJ. I’ve gotcha covered.”

Dipper’s mouth dropped open (and maybe Mabel’s did too, but she wasn’t about to admit that). “You’re a DJ?” he asked in awe.

Melody shrugged and smiled. “I have some experience.”

“Alright!” Dipper cheered. “It’s starting to come together. Music style?”

“Nothing from the radio,” Mabel said immediately. “Or too popular. I hate that stuff.”

Melody reached over to pat Mabel’s shoulder. “Sorry, Mabes, we gotta play stuff people will recognize. If there’s a song you really can’t stand, though, let me know and I won’t play it.”

Well. . . Mabel didn’t _actually_ listen to the radio enough to know what was on it. She just knew she hated it.

“I’ll play pop,” Melody said, “and maybe some classic rock. And a couple line dances, if you think people will be interested in that. Who’re you inviting?”

“Everybody!” Dipper replied. “Greyson, Candy, Robbie and all his friends, other kids or teenagers who want to come, and adults too if they’re interested.”

Melody nodded slowly. “What about Gideon Northwest?”

Mabel’s heartbeat started pounding in her head.

“If you can get him here, I’m sure he’ll bring a lot of lackeys along. It’ll—”

“No,” Mabel said.

Melody looked confused, but Dipper’s face had darkened as well.

“Why not?” Melody asked.

“Because Gideon was working with Pacifica,” Dipper said. “He was here when she kidnapped me, and he didn’t do anything to stop her. He stole the Journal from Mabel, and he almost tortured me for information.”

The kitchen went silent as the good mood evaporated.

“I’m sorry,” Melody said softly. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Mabel said.

It wasn’t okay.

“So no Gideon,” Melody said. “But he might show up anyway. Northwests make it a point to come to large gatherings.”

“If he does show up,” Dipper said darkly, “he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

His promise hung in the air like a cloud of smoke. Melody cleared her throat and stood up, taking dishes over to the sink.

“So. . . ,” Mabel finally said. “What should we put on the flyers?”

The black look left Dipper’s eyes, and he snapped back into happy mode. “Something catchy, like—Mystery Mash!”

“Sounds kinda Halloween-ish,” Melody said. “I like it.”

“And of course we’ll put the time and the date,” Dipper continued. Then he frowned. “Wait, didn’t Ford say he got to choose when it is?”

Mabel and Melody nodded.

Dipper took a deep breath. Mabel, with instincts honed by years of experience, covered her ears.

“ _FOOOOOOOORD! WHEN CAN WE HOLD THE PARTY?”_

“ _NOT FOR TWO DAYS FROM NOW AT LEAST!”_ Ford’s response wasn’t as loud as Dipper’s, but his voice carried across the Museum.

“ _HOW ABOUT_ —what’s today, Wednesday?— _FRIDAY NIGHT FROM SEVEN TO TEN?_ ”

“ _FINE!”_

Mabel’s hands crept away from her ears as the shouted conversation ended. “You done?” she asked Dipper.

He nodded. “Friday,” he said happily. “Seven to ten.”

“ _AND YOU’RE SPENDING TODAY HERE AT THE MUSEUM. DOCTOR’S ORDERS.”_

Mabel slapped her hands over her ears again as another shout came from Ford, but it was too late. Well, at least it wasn’t Dipper.

“ _OKAY!”_

Ow.

“Whoops. Sorry, Mabel.”

“Ford is right,” Melody said. “We all need today to heal. Let’s make the flyers, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing. Deal?”

“Deal,” the twins said at the same time.

Mabel could use a day of taking it easy, especially with all these bruises she got from fighting Pacifica. But she found herself glancing at the empty doorway to the kitchen.

Would a day of rest make Ford more willing to talk about the secret basement?

She sighed. Probably not.

Why couldn’t he just. . . trust her?


	5. Chapter 5

Twenty-four hours later, Mabel was rested, cheerful, and able to think about something other than what Ford was hiding from her. She stood in the entry way, holding a stack of photocopied party invitations and waiting for Dipper.

“Grunkle Ford, we’re leaving!” Dipper shouted across the Museum as he ran up to join Mabel. He had his arm through one sleeve of his sweater, the rest of it dangling beneath.

“Where’s Melody?” Mabel asked.

“Cleaning up and decorating,” Dipper said. “She said we can go without her.”

Mabel pulled the door open, shivering as the cold rushed into the house. She zipped up her orange sweater and tugged at the knit white gloves Melody had given her to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. Only then would she brave the outdoors.

The sun was shone brightly over the snow-covered path, but it gave little warmth. Mabel shivered again as she closed the door behind her and Dipper.

“So what’s our story?” Dipper asked as he bounded down the porch steps.

“Huh?” Mabel replied. She fell into step next to her brother, and they started briskly down the driveway toward the town of Gravity Rises. The way the Museum was situated, the front open on the town, but as soon as you went to the backyard it felt like the Museum was the only building within miles and miles of forest. Mabel liked that about it.

“Well,” Dipper said, “we just disappeared off the face of the earth for three days. The Museum was closed, and we were hiding out in the forest. So now that we’re back, and we’re holding a party, what do we tell people? We can’t exactly tell them ‘town darling Pacifica Pleasure’ stole our house and tortured Ford and kidnapped me. The only person who knows what really happened is Robbie. We should go to him first, I think.”

“Hold up,” Mabel said. “Give me a second to think.”

They walked in silence for a minute.

“We’ll just tell them we went camping. I mean, we kinda did.” Granted, they started out on an innocent camping trip and then went into hiding in an underground bunker, but both were technically “camping.”

Dipper nodded. “Sounds good. Although now that I think about it, Robbie’s friends were all there when Ford showed up at the campsite. I guess we’ll have to explain a bit more to them.” He stopped, looking around and frowning. “Wait, which one is Robbie’s house?”

“It’s back in the woods,” Mabel replied. She remembered Robbie telling her at some point. “That road, I think.”

The road, which was little more than a path, wound through the forest under a thin layer of packed snow. Knee-high piles pushed to the side created boundaries of the path, so it easy to tell where they needed to go. After a few minutes of walking down the road, sheltered by white-capped pines, the twins rounded a bend to see a modest log cabin nestled into the trees.

“I think this is it,” Mabel said. “But I’m not sure.”

Dipper shrugged. “If it isn’t, we can give whoever lives here an invitation anyway!” He started towards the house.

Mabel decided not to argue with that, since it was Dipper’s party in the first place.

She followed her brother up the steps, catching up just as Dipper knocked firmly on the wooden door. He stepped back, then started bouncing up and down in the cold. Mabel shivered, but just stood there.

The door opened, and Mabel let out a quick sigh of relief. It was Robbie. His black hair lay at awkward angles on his head, and he wore a red sweatshirt underneath a Hard Rock Café tee. His eyes widened as he saw them.

“Kids! You’re okay!”

“Hi Robbie!” Dipper said. “Yep, everything’s okay. We got the Museum back!”

Robbie grinned and fist-bumped Dipper. “Right on!” He turned to Mabel with his fist out, and she smiled shyly and bumped it with her own.

“Ford’s letting us throw a party to celebrate,” Dipper said. “It’s tomorrow. We brought an invitation for you!”

Mabel fumbled with her stack for a moment before extracting an invitation for Robbie. She wondered if he’d be able to tell she drew it.

“Sounds great. And you’ll have to tell me everything that happened since I last saw you, alright? I bet you have some crazy stories.”

Mabel fought to keep a smile on her face. Crazy, yes, but probably not in the way Robbie was thinking. . . .

“Absolutely,” Dipper said. “Hey, you want some invites to give to your friends? Ooh, or better yet, come delivering with us! You know more people around here than we do.”

Robbie considered that. “Sure, sounds great! Let me just make sure I can go out. You guys come on in out of the cold.”

Mabel and Dipper stepped into the house, Dipper closing the door behind them. Robbie disappeared into the halls, leaving the twins to look around at the cabin.

“Can you imagine living in a place like this?” Dipper asked.

“The Museum has log walls,” Mabel pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s really big. This place is nice and cozy.”

After a few minutes, Robbie came back to the entry way. “Let’s go, dudes!”

“Sweet!” Dipper said. He opened the door again, and the three of them went back outside.

In the few minutes they’d been inside, it’d started to flurry. Small flakes drifted down lazily from the sky, landing on Mabel’s head and shoulders but melting almost instantly. Mabel found herself smiling again. She loved when it snowed.

“Onward!” Dipper shouted, running down the porch steps. Robbie laughed, and he and Mabel followed Dipper away from the log cabin and back to the town.

“So where did you go Friday night?” Robbie asked as they strolled down the wooded path.

 “Ford has this underground bunker,” Dipper said. “We hid out in there until Tuesday night, when Pacifica kidnapped me.”

Robbie blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, she had these levitation powers that made it so I couldn’t move. She took me back to the Mystery Museum and tried to tell me Mabel was evil and all this garbage. She’s out of her mind.”

“Sounds like it.”

Mabel was quiet. She didn’t really want to talk about how crazy Pacifica was. Not after what had happened when they shattered the amulet.

“But later that day, Mabel and Ford and Melody came and rescued me—”

“Well, we showed up right as he was escaping,” Mabel cut in.

“—and then Pacifica came out and turned into this huge glowing thing—”

“An astral projection. It was taller than the Museum.”

“—and we fought her, and Mabel totally took her down. And then I broke the amulet she had to get rid of her powers.”

“So she’s not a threat anymore?” Robbie asked.

“Shouldn’t be,” Dipper confirmed. “And that’s basically it from my side.”

“Wow,” Robbie said. “That does sound crazy. What happened with you, Mabel?”

Mabel tried not to flinch. She was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Um, basically the same thing. We went to rescue Dipper and found him halfway through escaping, and then we all fought Pacifica together.”

She ignored Dipper’s quizzical gaze. She didn’t want to tell Robbie about her and Ford fighting. She didn’t want to tell Dipper about Gideon stealing her Journal in the forest. And she especially didn’t want to tell either of them about her nearly making a deal with Bill Cipher, the dream demon who had invaded Robbie’s mind on Friday night.

Mercifully, before Robbie could ask her anything else, the path ended, and they emerged onto Main Street of Gravity Rises.

“Let’s go to Greyson and Candy’s houses first!” Dipper said, his face lighting up. Mabel knew how much he wanted to see his friends again. He took off down the street towards Greyson’s place.

When Mabel and Robbie caught up, Dipper was standing at the bottom of Greyson’s porch steps, gazing up at the house.

“You okay, Dip?” Mabel asked.

Dipper glanced at her. “There’s a part of me. . . that keeps thinking Pacifica came and did something to them. I mean, I know she probably didn’t, but. . . .” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’m just so glad she can’t do anything to us anymore.”

Mabel couldn’t help but agree. The knowledge that Pacifica’s amulet was gone was a major relief.

Dipper breathed deeply, grabbed some invitations from Mabel’s stack, and then took the steps up to the porch and rang Greyson’s doorbell.

The door opened to reveal both Greyson and Candy. “Hi guys!” Dipper cried, jumping forward to hug his friends. Mabel thought she saw Candy blush as Dipper threw his arms around her.

“Hey, Dipper,” Greyson said, his deep voice sounding confused. “Where’ve you been?”

“Camping,” Dipper said. “I forgot to tell you guys first, though. I missed you a lot!”

“We missed you too,” Greyson replied slowly.

Dipper pulled back, and even though Mabel could only see the side of his face, she could tell he was beaming at his friends. “We’re having a party tomorrow to celebrate us coming back,” he said. “You guys should come!”

“That sounds awesome!” Greyson said.

“How many people will be there?” Candy asked.

“I dunno, a lot,” Dipper said. “You’re only the second house we’ve come to. We’re gonna have great food, a world-class DJ, a karaoke contest—it’s gonna be way fun.”

“That sounds cool,” Candy said, “but I don’t sing. Or dance.”

“Yes she does,” Greyson said. “We’ll be there.”

“Great!” Dipper said. He handed each of them an invitation. “See you guys then!” With a wave, he jumped back down the porch steps and rejoined Mabel and Robbie. Greyson and Candy waved back and then closed the door.

After that, Dipper had an extra spring in his step, and Mabel could tell he’d been really worried about his friends.

For the rest of the morning, Mabel, Dipper, and Robbie circulated the small town handing out invitations to basically everyone. They stopped by Robbie’s friends’ houses, posted an invitation on the news board inside the grocery store, and handed out invitations to people they passed on the street. Dipper did most of the talking, while Mabel did most of the handing out. She liked it that way.

As they went around, Mabel found her thoughts turning to Ford and the secret basement again. It was obvious something big had happened in that room, that the huge metal triangle was important. But it was doubly obvious Ford had no intentions of telling her anything about it. She didn’t know why—she _thought_ they’d made progress when she gave him back his Journal—but she was determined to find out somehow. She deserved to know, she’d _seen_ the room. But how else could she find out the secrets of the Mystery Museum if Ford wouldn’t tell her?

The idea came to her on the way back to the Museum.

“Of course!” she gasped.

Dipper startled next to her. “What is it?” They’d parted ways with Robbie a few minutes ago, and the remaining invitations were stuffed in Dipper’s pockets.

“In the Journal,” Mabel said, “there’s this page about how to summon ghosts.”

“There is?” Dipper asked.

Mabel nodded. “It says that some ghosts are the best way to get information, because all they do is eavesdrop on other people. So if I could summon a ghost that lives in the Museum, it might know something about the basement, and the triangle thing, and the Lee guy!”

Dipper frowned. “I dunno, Mabes. Do you think Ford will even give you back the Journal?”

“I don’t know,” Mabel admitted. “He said he would Tuesday night, but he didn’t say when.”

“I think he’d be mad if you went behind his back, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Mabel said, her voice growing angry. “If he’s too self-centered to tell us what’s going on, then I say we have every right to do some research of our own.”

Dipper bit his lip. “I guess.” He didn’t sound convinced.

The twins mounted the steps up to the Mystery Museum house door.

“Kids? Is that you?” Melody called from across the house as Mabel pulled the door closed.

“Yeah!” she called back. She hurried into the living room, where the fireplace roared. The heat felt abrasive against her cold cheeks, but she welcomed it.

A minute later, Melody strolled in to meet them. “How’d it go?”

“Great!” Dipper said. “We handed out nearly all of them. How does the party room look?”

“Ready for partyin’,” Melody replied, grinning. “Come and see.”

“Okay!”

Dipper ran across the room and was about to follow Melody out when he turned back to Mabel. “Mabes? You coming?”

“Um, yeah. In a minute.” She stared into the flames.

“One sec, Melody,” she heard Dipper say. A moment later, he was at her side. “Oh wow, that’s warm,” he said. “Hey, Mabel.”

She turned to look at him.

“Give Ford a little while, okay? Before you try the ghost thing. Maybe he’s just waiting to tell us some other time.”

“Yeah, maybe. It just. . . it isn’t fair, that he’s being so secretive.”

“I know,” Dipper replied. “But if you push him, he might get mad again. And I don’t want you two fighting when we’re about to have a party. Could you maybe wait until after? Take a few days to celebrate.” He smiled gently. “I know it’s selfish of me.”

“No, I get it,” Mabel said. “Okay. I’ll wait. But only for so long.”

“Thanks, Mabes,” Dipper said. His smile widened. “Do you wanna come see the party room with me?”

“Sure,” Mabel said. Dipper got to his feet and helped her up, and the two moved away from the fire.

But some of the fire stayed with Mabel. An inside fire. One that said that even though she would wait, she wouldn’t give this up. She wouldn’t let Ford hide whatever he was hiding forever.

And she’d find out however she had to.


	6. Chapter 6

Bud’s heart hammered against his ribcage as he walked down the halls of Order headquarters. His purple robes swished against his ankles, and he tried to force himself to slow down, but he couldn’t. If someone saw him down here, he didn’t know if he could give a plausible excuse for being here outside of an official meeting. And if anyone found out what he was planning to do. . . If he was caught. . . .

He quickened his step.

There was no other alternative. The last forty-eight hours had been so terrible, he just couldn’t stand it any longer. And he was starting to suspect who might have told Pacifica about the Order.

If he begged him to take it away. . . if he begged him to stop her madness. . . .

Bud ducked into an empty room and closed the door swiftly behind him. Once he looked around to make sure he was alone, he let out a sigh of relief and then got to work.

He found ten candles, matches, and a piece of chalk stashed away in a desk drawer. Beneath them lay a faded piece of parchment, which gave the instructions of the ritual. Bud pulled a picture from his robes, a photo and him and Pacifica smiling up from the frame, and set it on the floor in the middle of the room.  

Then he started drawing.

Ten minutes later, a wobbly but recognizable Cipher Wheel circled the picture frame in its center. Bud placed the candles outside the Wheel so that they completed their own circle, and carefully lit them, making sure not to catch his robes in the flame. Once all the candles were lit, Bud picked up the parchment with trembling fingers and began to read the incantation.

His voice was hesitant at first, and he stumbled over the words. As he got farther into the spell, however, he got stronger and more confident.

And then the spell was taking over, and he was down on his knees, yelling the same phrase over and over again without telling his mouth to move. He shouted the words at the top of his voice, and then it stopped, and his vision filled with white.

When his eyes cleared, the candles were out, the world was in grey, and a glowing yellow triangle floated above him.

“ **Bud Pleasure**!” Bill Cipher said, his multi-layered voice echoing dully in the small room. “I was **wondering** if you’d work up the **courage** to summon me.”

Since Bud was already on his knees anyway, he bowed to the demon, his forehead touching the floor. “L-L-Lord Cipher,” he stammered. “I c-come to you in g-great distress.”

“When **else** do people like **you** come to **me**?” Cipher replied.

Bud looked up in surprise.

Cipher surveyed the crude summoning circle Bud had drawn, and let out something like a chuckle when his gaze landed on the photograph Bud had offered as a sacrifice. “Your **daughter** has more **style**.”

“So she has summoned you?” Bud asked. “P-please, Lord Cipher, I can’t bear it any longer. She—”

“I know **exactly** what’s going on,” Cipher said.

“O-of course you do.”

“ **But** Pacifica summoned me **before** she went insane. And, **by** the way, she’s **always** been crazy. **You** just don’t **care** enough to see it.”

“I-I-I—Pacifica is my treasure, I-I love her dearly!”

“Not enough to **stop** her from going off and being **famous** ,” Cipher replied. “You’ve always **feared** her. But I **digress**. You want me to do something to **stop** her madness.”

“Y-yes, oh, please, my lord, I would do anything—”

Cipher cut Bud off by laughing loudly. The abrasive sound hurt Bud’s ears, but he didn’t dare say anything until the laughter wore off.

“Oh, **man** , that’s **funny** ,” Cipher said, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye. “ **No** , you **wouldn’t**. Not a **coward** like you. And **anyway** , I didn’t **cause** Pacifica’s condition. She did it all **herself**. I’m just taking **advantage** of the situation.”

“Advantage, m-my lord?”

Cipher studied Bud under his watchful eye. “Suffice it to **say** ,” he replied, “that your **daughter** can be of **great** help to me, **if** she is **guided** in the right **direction**. The will of your **father** has passed down to her **two-fold**.” Cipher fell silent for a moment, and Bud got the feeling that he was smiling, despite not having a mouth. “ **Perhaps** the reason you have no **spine** is that **she** got all of your potential for **greatness**.”

Bud knew he was being insulted, but he was too nervous to be offended. “I-I don’t understand. Pacifica has been talking of—of leading the Order. Are you the one that told her so?”

“ **I** **am**.”

“You. . . you mean to have Blind Lincoln replaced?”

“I **mean** ,” Cipher said, his voice lowering in pitch, “to not be **questioned** by a sub-intelligent **whelp** like you.”  

“Y-y-yes, Lord Cipher, apologies, Lord Cipher—”

“ **Silence** ,” Cipher demanded. Bud shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together.

Cipher put his hands on the slopes of his triangular sides and assumed a contemplative expression. “You never cease to **amuse** me, Bud Pleasure,” Cipher said, after a pause.

Bud didn’t know if he had permission to speak, so he said nothing. He studied the picture in the middle of the summoning circle, bathed in the yellow glow radiating from Bill Cipher. A long silence stretched in the small stone room.

“ **By the way** ,” Cipher said, “ **Blind Lincoln** has **wards** in place to detect if anyone **summons** me without **authorization**.”

Bud’s eyes snapped up to Cipher as the words sank into his skull. A burst of panic shuddered through his entire body.

The door behind him burst open.

“ _Pleasure!_ ” a voice roared as Bud whirled around to face it. “ _What do you think you are doing!?_ ”

“Ah, **Blind Lincoln** ,” Cipher said conversationally. “So **nice** of you to **join** us.”

“Lord Cipher,” Lincoln said, erasing the fury from his face and dropping into a deep bow. “My deepest apologies for my insubordinate follower, I—”

“ **No need** ,” Cipher interrupted. “I’ve been **expecting** Pleasure to **contact** me. And now that **you’re** here, I have something to **discuss** with you.”

“Of course, Lord Cipher.” Lincoln gave Bud a glare and jerked a thumb towards the door.

“Oh **no** , Bud needs to be here **too**.”

Blind Lincoln looked at Cipher in surprise. Bud willed himself to disappear into the walls.

“Alright,” Lincoln said. He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Lord Cipher?”

“ **You** know as well as **I** the **circumstances** that brought you to your **position** ,” Cipher began.

Blind Lincoln’s eyes flicked over to Bud, who flinched in response. If Cipher truly wanted to install Pacifica as the leader of the Order of the Crescent Eye, how would Lincoln view Bud afterward?

“Yes,” was Lincoln’s measured reply.

Cipher laughed. “Oh, you’re **priceless** , **Blind Eye**. I’m not **replacing** you with **Bud**!” More laughter. “ **No**. Bud will continue to **reap** the consequences of his **cowardice**.”

Bud gave a little bow here. Just in case.

“His **daughter** , however. . . **Lincoln** , are you aware of the **events** that took place this past week?”

“What events do you mean?”

“Two days ago, **Pacifica Pleasure** lost her precious **powers** that granted her **telepathy** and other **psychic abilities**.”

Lincoln frowned thoughtfully. “I have heard reports of concern about her little psychic show shutting down.”

Cipher twirled his cane around and pointed it at Lincoln. “ **Exactly**. Now that she’s **sans-powers** , she needs another **outlet** for her plans.”

Bud thought he saw Blind Lincoln’s face turn a paler shade, but his expression stayed composed. “What plans, Lord Cipher?”

Cipher waved the question away. “That’s between **me** and **her**. **However** , I want to move her **here** , to Order headquarters, so she can **learn** her **duties** of being leader of the Order.”

“You mean to replace me with a careless little girl?” Lincoln snapped, finally looking angry. “Cipher, what have I—”

“ **Shut up** ,” Cipher suggested. “She’s not **replacing** you, not **yet**. But you won’t **last forever** , Lincoln. Not like **I** will.”

A deep breath from Lincoln. “Of course, my lord.”

“ **You** will be in charge of **training** young Pleasure for her **future role**. She will **stay here** , out of sight, **away** from the rest of the town.”

Bud didn’t like the sound of that.

“And **Bud**?”

“Y-yes, my lord?”

Cipher turned on him, and Bud could see his own reflection in the slitted pupil of Cipher’s eye.

“ **You** will **stay out** of the **way**.”

The words felt like a slap in the face. Before Bud could stop himself, he was stammering, “L-L-Lord Cipher, my d-daughter—”

“You **wanted** me to **fix** her, **didn’t** you?” Cipher demanded.

Bud swallowed. “Y-yes—”

“ **This** is my way of **fulfilling** your **request**. I expect you to be **grateful** , and to **do** as I **say**.”

Bud felt any ounce of control he had over his life slip away. He just got Pacifica back, and now he was losing her again. Except. . . hadn’t he already lost her? And with her living at Order headquarters, wouldn’t things go back to normal? A peaceful home, just him and Catherine?

“Yes, my lord,” Bud finally said. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Lord Cipher,” Blind Lincoln cut in. “I do not want to babysit this child.”

“It’s not **babysitting** ,” Cipher replied, “and any **grievances** you have can be discussed with me **later**.” He turned to Bud. “You **summoned** me, **Pleasure**. So now we have to make some kind of **deal**.”

Right. Bud was prepared for this. This just. . . wasn’t the deal he was expecting.

Cipher’s hand lit up with blue fire. Blind Lincoln stepped out of the way. Bud gulped.

“If you **release** custody of your daughter over to **me** and **Blind Lincoln** ,” Cipher said. “We will take **care** of her and **prepare** her for her **destiny**.”

“A-and then she’ll be okay?” Bud said.

“ **Yes**.” Cipher held out his hand. “Do we have a **deal**?”

Bud wiped his sweaty palm on the side of his leg. Then he reached out and took Cipher’s hand.

The blue fire spread from Cipher’s hand to Bud’s, and the large man tried to flinch away, but he couldn’t. And it didn’t hurt, anyway. It felt comfortably warm, and. . . peaceful.

The fire disappeared, and Cipher pulled away. The deal was made.

The peaceful feeling faded away with the blue light from the fire. Something sank in Bud’s gut, something he couldn’t define. _I just made a big mistake._

“ **Well** , this was **enjoyable** ,” Cipher said. “I **appreciate** your **cooperation** , Pleasure. You may **leave** now. I have **more** to **discuss** with **Blind Lincoln**.”

“Of course, my lord,” Bud said, surprised to find he was no longer stuttering. He bowed low to Cipher and turned to leave.

“ **Pleasure**?”

Bud stopped.

“Don’t **forget** your **picture** ,” Cipher said. He gestured beneath him, where the photograph of Pacifica still sat innocently on the floor.

Bud snatched the picture and hurried out of the room, feeling Blind Lincoln’s eyes burning a hole in his back. As soon as the door was closed behind him, Bud leaned against the wall and let out a relieved breath.

He did it. He summoned Bill Cipher, spoke to him, and convinced him to help him. _He did it_.

Bud’s eyes found the picture in his hand. Pacifica’s smooth face smiled up at him from its frame.

Tears pricked Bud’s eyes.

_You will stay out of the way._

_You release custody of your daughter._

_We will take care of her._

“Oh, Pacifica,” Bud whispered, tracing the image of her chin with a finger. “What. . . What have I done?”


	7. Chapter 7

The Pines twins pounded across the wooden floorboards as they traipsed back across the Mystery Shack.

“This is going to be _so great_ ,” Dipper said as they walked. “With all of Ford’s random science stuff out of the way, that room is way much bigger than I thought it was. I hope a lot of people come! I wonder how loud Melody’s speakers can go. Or maybe Robbie has some good ones if Melody doesn’t, I dunno. He seems like the kind of person to have big loud speakers.”

They had come out of the party room when Mabel’s stomach had growled loud enough for the both of them. They hadn’t had lunch yet, so after assuring Melody they could get their own food and leaving her to continue tidying things up, they set out for the kitchen.

“I hope it’s not _too_ many people,” Mabel said. “If I’m going to dance at all I’d better have room to do it.”

“Aw, come on,” Dipper said, bumping into her from the side. “You love to dance.”

Mabel shrugged. “Occasionally, I guess, but not—”

The words cut off in her throat, like she had been strangled. Dipper swung his gaze to her in alarm. She was just standing there, mouth slightly agape, eyes unblinking and filling with a hardness Dipper rarely saw in her.

So he turned to see what she was looking at.

Gideon Northwest was sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, looking like he’d just been caught cheating on a test as his eyes met Mabel’s and then slid away. Ford sat across from him, a mug cradled in his six-fingered hands. It looked like the two had been interrupted in the middle of a conversation.

“Northwest,” Dipper said, because clearly Mabel wasn’t going to speak up. “What are you doing here?”

Gideon’s chest rose and fell as he took a long breath. “I. . . came to speak to Stanford.”

Dipper’s eyes kept glancing between Mabel and Gideon during the short exchange. Mabel was still standing frozen, eyes locked on Gideon, this look on her face like she got when she was about to cry, except with no wetness in her eyes. This hard, hurting, hateful look.

After an awkward pause, Gideon cleared his throat. “Mabel,” he said slowly, “I—”

And then the dam broke, and Mabel’s foot thumped on the ground as she stepped heavily forward. “ _You left me alone!_ ” she exploded, the words so forceful that Dipper, Gideon, and Ford all flinched. “I _trusted you,_ I thought _you were going to help me,_ and you _stole my only hope_ and _left me for dead!_ ”

Dipper stared at his sister in shock. Not only was this maybe the fourth time in his life he’d seen her yell like this, but this was much worse than he’d originally heard. But then, when he first heard it, Gideon was telling the story. Of course he left things out.

“Mabel—Mabel, I—I didn’t—” Gideon spluttered out the words. It gave Dipper an evil little pleasure to see him squirm.

“I nearly _died_ from _hypothermia!_ ” Mabel shouted. “I almost—” Her voice faltered. “I nearly— _I hate you, Gideon Northwest!_ ”

And with that, she whirled around and fled up the stairs and out of sight, leaving a wake of silence behind her.

Dipper was torn between following his sister and finding out just what Gideon wanted. A glance to the kitchen. Whatever Ford and Gideon were talking about might not have anything to do with him. A glance to the stairs. But surely Mabel wanted to be alone for a while.

Dipper stayed.

He sucked in a breath and sauntered into the kitchen, pulling up a chair and turning it around to sit in it backwards, because that was Cool. He fixed Gideon with an unrelenting stare.

“I truly am sorry,” Gideon finally said, softly, like the words were hard to force out. “For. . . everything.”

“Okay,” Dipper said.

“You’re not angry at me?”

“Nah.” _My sister will never forgive you, so I might as well pick up her share._ “Since you apologized and all. So what _are_ you doing here?”

It wasn’t that easy, of course. Though Dipper said the words, played the part, he knew he could never actually trust Gideon Northwest. Not as far as he could drop-kick him.

Ford cleared his throat, which startled Dipper because he’d nearly forgotten his uncle was there. “Gideon, what exactly is Mabel so angry about?”

Gideon squirmed some more. Good.

But he didn’t have to say anything, because Ford kept talking. “When I found Mabel alone. . . she told me the Journal had been stolen by Pacifica. Or. . . .” He frowned, remembering. “She didn’t use those words exactly. That was you, that stole it?”

Gideon was paler than Dipper had ever seen him.

“Why?” Ford asked.

“I. . . I had heard there was a book documenting the magical phenomena of Gravity Rises,” Gideon began. “When I saw Mabel had it. . . I took it. And when I saw the six-fingered hand on the front, I realized you must have written them. Which is also why I’m here.”

Something about that didn’t seem right, but Dipper couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You have knowledge about magical creatures and artifacts, right?” Gideon asked.

“Some,” Ford responded.

Gideon took a deep breath. “You were there, the other day. You saw what happened to her when. . . when the amulet got smashed.”

“Pacifica?”

“Yes. She. . . she’s not doing well. She’s completely lost it. Never meeting people’s eyes, slurring her words, screaming about things that aren’t there.”

Ford leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “You’ve spoken to her?”

“No.” Gideon’s eyes flicked down to his lap. “Just watched. But, Mr. Pines, she’s had that amulet since we were kids. She’s been using it for years. I always told her she relied on it too much, and now that it’s gone. . . .”

His finger reached up and traced his collarbone, and that’s when Dipper realized he wasn’t wearing his own amulet.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Gideon said to Ford. “Can you help her? She can’t even. . . she can’t even think.”

Gideon’s eyes were dry, but his face was pained. Dipper was surprised. He thought Northwests weren’t allowed to show emotion.

“I’m not sure,” Ford said after a pause. “When I first saw Pacifica’s amulet, it reminded me of something I had studied before, but I can’t recall much detail. And I’m no doctor. Well, I am a doctor, of multiple things, but not of medicine. This sounds like something that may not be in my expertise.”

“You have to know something,” Gideon said. “And you’re probably the closest thing to a doctor this backwards town has. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

Ford studied Gideon’s face while Dipper studied Ford’s. The latter was unreadable.   

“What would you propose I do?”

Gideon blinked. “Maybe. . . maybe come and take a look at her? Or. . . do you know of any other artifacts like the amulet that might take its place?”

“No way!” Dipper said immediately. “We’re _not_ giving her those powers back.”

“So you want her to be crazy?” Gideon demanded.

“She already was crazy!”

“You haven’t seen her since it happened—even though _you_ were the one who did this to her!”

“Boys!” Ford shouted.

Dipper and Gideon were almost nose to nose, glaring at each other across the table.  

“Sit back and calm down,” Ford said in his Figure of Authority voice. Dipper obeyed, but didn’t take his gaze off Gideon. The two remained with eyes locked.

“Gideon,” Ford continued. “If I’m going to help you, you must understand. Pacifica was attacking Dipper, Mabel, and myself. Breaking the amulet was the wisest course of action to keep our family safe. None of us are to blame for the effects of this.”

He said it so calmly and emotionlessly that Dipper was sure Gideon was going to blow up at him. But the Northwest simply let out a pent-up breath and nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “You were protecting yourselves. I understand. But Pacifica is still. . . still broken, because of it.”

“I know,” Ford replied. “And I’m willing to come take a look at her. I want to see what is happening before I propose any solutions.”

“Of course,” Gideon said. His face was composed, and his formal tone matched Ford’s. They probably thought it was sophisticated. Dipper just thought it sounded stuffy.

“Wait a sec,” Dipper said. “If Pacifica’s all crazy and Ford goes to see her, won’t she attack him or something?”

Ford thought on this. “It is a possibility. But without her amulet, I doubt she can hurt me. Still, we’ll be cautious.” He turned to Gideon. “You said she hasn’t seen you since the amulet broke?”

“Yes,” Gideon said. “But for all our arguments, we’re. . . we’re friends. I don’t think she’d hurt me.”

His face said he wasn’t so sure, but Dipper decided not to push it.

“Tomorrow evening,” Ford declared. “I’ll meet you outside Pacifica’s house at six-thirty.”

“Alright.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Wait, Ford—you can’t go tomorrow night, that’s when the party is!”

Ford turned to his grandnephew. “Exactly,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on attending, at least not the whole time. And I seem to recall you saying something about not wanting Gideon along.”

He didn’t want Gideon along, but Dipper wasn’t planning on saying that in front of him. Oh well.

“What’s this about a party?” Gideon asked.

“We’re holding a town party tomorrow to celebrate the re-opening of the Museum.” Dipper gave Gideon a meaningful look with the word _re-opening_. “And you’re not invited. So go ahead and go check on Pacifica with Ford.”

“You seem to think that will offend me,” Gideon said smoothly.

“The fact that you said anything means you’re offended,” Dipper shot back.

“Boys,” Ford said again, this time wearily. “So do we have an agreement, Gideon?”

“Yes,” Gideon said. “We’ll go tomorrow evening, and I’ll stay away from this party of yours. Although,” he said to Dipper, “I thought you’ve forgiven me.”

“Mabel hasn’t,” Dipper replied.

Gideon flinched a little at that. Good.

Ford stood up, and Dipper and Gideon followed suit. “Well, Gideon,” Ford said, “I admire your courage in coming here despite the hostile territory. Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow.”

The two shook hands, but Dipper stepped away before Gideon could even think of coming near him. Gideon didn’t even look in his direction.

And then Gideon left.

Dipper and Ford followed him to the entry way and watched him go until he closed the front door behind him. Neither of them said anything for a while.

Dipper broke the silence. “Well,” he said. “I guess I’d better go talk to Mabel.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Ha! I win!”

Dipper slapped his last card onto the pile and displayed his empty hands for Mabel to see.

“I still say that reverse move was illegal,” Mabel said, putting down her hand of cards. She didn’t care that much, though.

“I probably would’ve won anyway,” Dipper said smugly.

It was Friday, late in the afternoon. The party room was decorated, the food was sitting in the kitchen ready to be set out just before the party, and Melody was currently hooking up her DJ equipment. Half an hour ago, with the twins under her feet, the housekeeper had suggested they go play a game or something to take their minds off their anxious excitement.

So now Mabel and Dipper were on their fourth round of _Dos_ , with Dipper on a winning streak.    

Dipper gathered up the cards again and started shuffling. His knee, which had a brand new red Band-Aid from when he banged it on the stairs earlier, bounced against the floor with a contained hyperactivity. Mabel knew he was waiting anxiously for the party—not because he was nervous, but because he was waiting for something exciting.

Mabel was just nervous.

She listened to the rustling sounds as Dipper shuffled the cards for a new round for a moment before grabbing her sketchbook and pencil from the floor.

She flipped to her latest sketch and started idly adding to it. She had done most of it on their Ford-ordered rest day, after designing the party invitations. It showed Ford kneeling on the ground of the secret basement, head tilted up as he stared at the huge upside-down triangle thing. The picture was from the back, but Mabel had captured the hopelessness in his slack posture. Looking at the picture made her feel two things: sadness at seeing Ford in pain, and a wild curiosity to why he was in pain in the first place.

“Hey, Mabes, I’m ready.” Dipper was holding out her hand. “You still wanna play?”

Mabel looked up from her sketchbook and shrugged. “I kinda want to play something else. Or get food.”

“Melody said she’d make dinner at five-thirty. What time is it?”

“Dunno.”

“Mabel?”

She turned around to see Ford walk into the room, and immediately slammed her notebook closed before he could see the picture of him and set it aside. He didn’t seem to notice, just yawned behind his hand. There were bags under his eyes, and he moved sluggishly, like he had just woken up but hadn’t slept well. Mabel realized she hadn’t seen him since breakfast that morning.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Do you remember reading anything in the Journal about the amulets?”

Mabel’s heart sped up when she saw the maroon book tucked under his arm. “No. I didn’t know anything about the amulets until Pacifica first attacked me with hers.”

Ford sighed. “That’s what I thought. I’ve just read through it again and I didn’t find anything.”

“You read through it again? So you remember everything?”

The words were out before Mabel could stop them. She immediately shrunk back as Ford’s weary gaze fixed on her.

“Somewhat,” he said carefully. “There are some pages missing.”

Mabel nodded. She’d fingered the ridges of the torn papers many times, wondering what could’ve been written on the pages that were ripped out.

“But you’ve seen everything you need to?”

Ford watched her for a moment, then cracked a smile. “I know you want it back,” he said.

Mabel flushed. “W-well, yeah, I—I mean—I really like reading it.”

Her heart gave an offended _thump_ when it realized she had lied to Ford. She _did_ like reading the Journal, but she really wanted it back to try summoning a ghost. She’d made the decision yesterday, after seeing Gideon. She was sick of other people deciding what she would know and when.

  Ford’s smile widened, though it didn’t take all the fatigue out of his eyes. “Well,” he said, “I’ve read it thoroughly, and it won’t help me when I go to see Pacifica. Plus, I probably shouldn’t have it out near Gideon anyway. Here.” He bent down to hand her the Journal.

She took it, running her fingers over the gilded six-fingered hand, hugging it close to her chest. “W-wait,” she realized. “When are you going to see Pacifica?” Dipper had told her about it, but he hadn’t said when.

“In about an hour.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. An hour? With Ford out of the Museum, she’d have free reign to carry out her plan. Her fingers curled tighter around the Journal.

“How long will you be gone?” Dipper asked. “You’ll be here for some of the party, right?”

 _The party_. Dipper’s party was starting at seven. Mabel wasn’t sure what time it was now, she knew it wasn’t six. If Ford left in an hour, she’d still have time to summon the ghost and still be on time for the party, right?

She didn’t have any other time. She’d just have to be fast.

“I don’t know how long it will take,” Ford said. “I have no idea what Pacifica will be like, or if I can help her.”

She’d _definitely_ have to be fast.

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards behind the stairs. Melody appeared around the corner, having just come from the party room. “Hey there, Mr. Pines,” she said. “Glad to see you awake.”

“I haven’t been asleep,” Ford replied.

Melody gave him a disapproving look, but it only lasted a moment. “Well, I’m gonna make dinner,” she said. “Gotta have a good meal before we stay up all night eating party snacks.”

She smiled at Dipper, and he grinned back. “How’s your DJ corner?”

“Ready to rule the night,” she replied. She ambled across the entry way to the kitchen, and Dipper jumped to his feet to join her. Mabel stayed in place, thinking.

If Melody was here to make dinner, then it was five-thirty. So Ford was leaving at six-thirty. Which gave her half an hour to summon the ghost.

Okay. She could deal with that.

She looked down at the Journal, the golden trim glinting in the light.

_I’ve got this._

~~~~~

Fast-forward an hour, and Mabel was crouched on the stairs, watching as Ford got ready to leave. She peered through the railing, the Journal secure in her jacket.

Ford pulled his coat on and looked back. Mabel saw him jump as he saw her, but his face stayed composed. “You look like a cat up there,” he told her.

Mabel blinked. “Dipper says that too.”

Ford chuckled. “Come to see me off?”

“Um. . . yeah. You don’t have anything Gideon could steal, do you?”

The laugh on Ford’s face softened. “He apologized, Mabel.”

She felt a knot of hatred form in the pit of her stomach and send shock waves up through her chest. She forced it down, forced herself to say, “Just. . . don’t trust him, Grunkle Ford. Trust no one.”

Ford looked at her in surprise. “That’s from my Journal.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said. “I-I mean, maybe trust _some_ people. I trust Dipper. I trust—”

She suddenly couldn’t bring herself to say _I trust you_. Because she had trusted him, for a good few hours, before he’d betrayed that trust in refusing to tell her about the secret basement. 

“—some people,” she finished lamely. She hurried to cover up her hesitation. “But not Gideon Northwest. So. . . be careful.”

Ford studied her for a moment, and she braced herself. But he didn’t say anything for some time. Finally, he smiled slightly. “I will.” He put a hand on the doorknob. “You be careful yourself. No raising the dead or anything while I’m gone, alright?”

Mabel blinked.

Well, dang it.

Now she _really_ had to be done before he got home.

“Good-bye,” Ford said. He was smiling, so he must have been joking. Still, it was a scarily coincidental joke.

“Bye,” Mabel forced out. “Good luck.”

The door closed behind him, bathing the entryway in blessed silence. For a moment.

Mabel shot to her feet and ran down the stairs, tearing around the corner into the hallway and throwing the door to the parlor open.

She had half an hour.

~~~~~

“Welcome to the Mystery Museum! Have a glow stick!”

Dipper handed another guest their glow stick and grinned around at the party room that was filling up. People were showing up, more people than he was expecting. This was going to be _awesome_.

It was a quarter hour after seven. Melody had warned Dipper that most people would show up fashionably late, but there was still a good crowd forming. A simple but fast song pulsed through the room, the notes soft but the beat  strong. The food was all set up, a punch bowl and chips and donuts on the table ready to be devoured. A few people were over at the snacks table, but most were chatting on the dance floor as they swayed to the beat of the music. It was still quiet enough to hear yourself talk.

“Dipper!”

The deep voice bellowed out his name, and Dipper knew who the speaker was before he saw him. “Hey, Greyson!”

Greyson and Candy were standing together, Greyson with a wide smile and Candy with a small one. Her little black eyes darted around the room, looking at all the people as if judging their level of danger. When her eyes met Dipper’s, though, she relaxed.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it! Want some glow sticks?” Dipper held out the bundle that was in his hand. More glow stick bracelets dangled from his wrist, and a chain looped into a necklace hung on his neck.

Greyson and Candy both accepted a glow stick. “Who else is coming?” Candy asked, her tone guarded.

“Friends,” Dipper said. “Gideon and his lackeys aren’t gonna show. Or if they do, we’ll take care of them.”

Candy smiled, this time genuinely. It was kind of a scary smile.

“I gotta keep greeting people,” Dipper said, “but you guys go grab some food or start dancing.”

“Is your sister here?” Greyson asked.

“Maybe she could greet people,” Candy suggested.

“Nah, that’s not really her style,” Dipper said. “This is my shebang, so. . . I. . . .” He trailed off and looked around the room, frowning. “Where is Mabel, anyway?”

Greyson and Candy were silent as Dipper searched for his twin. “She’s not in here,” he finally said. His face fell. Mabel promised she would come, she promised she wouldn’t just hide, she promised. . .

She promised she’d wait to summon that ghost until after the party. But Ford was gone.

“Guys, listen, I gotta go,” Dipper said. “Will you maybe hand out glow sticks for me until I get back? Otherwise, our DJ Melody has everything under control.”

“Um, okay,” Candy said. “I guess.”

“Thanks guys! I’ll be back soon.”

He turned and dashed out of the party room, taking the small staircase up from the party room and into the hallway.

Was she up in the attic? In their room? Somewhere else altogether? Maybe she wasn’t even summoning the ghost now, maybe Dipper was just jumping to conclusions—

As he rounded the corner to the main hallway, he saw a flash of light from under the parlor door.

He wasn’t just jumping to conclusions.

He ran down the hallway, feet pounding against the shaggy carpeting. The lights in this hallway weren’t on, since guests weren’t supposed to go farther than the bathroom that was back around the corner. Dipper didn’t let this slow him down, though. He made his way by memories and the blueish light that seeped through the cracks of the parlor door.

He slowed down as he approached the door and heard voices.

“Wh-what do you mean?” That was Mabel.

“I mean, I only died, like, three months ago. Who even are you?”

“I’m, um—listen, are there any other ghosts around here? Older ones?”

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

Dipper opened the door. “Mabel! What are you doing?”

She whirled around to face him, her eyes widening. “D-Dipper! I-I—um—I—what time is it?”

“The party’s already started,” he said, not bothering to keep the hurt out of his voice. “Mabes, I thought you said—”

“I-I know,” she hurried to say. “But I finally got a ghost to appear—”

“Not for long,” said the ghost.

Dipper finally took the time to notice the ghost. Except for the fact that it was glowing and floating above the floor, it looked just like a teenage boy. He wore a loose-knit beanie and large square glasses that framed glowing blue eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” the ghost snapped. “I looked like this before it was cool.”

“What’s with this guy?” Dipper asked Mabel.

Mabel put a hand to her face and moaned. “Whyyyyyyy.”

“Why what?”

She picked up the Journal, which had been laying open on the floor, flicked through it, and thrust it towards Dipper. The page was labeled “Dream Hipster,” although the sketch depicting an old man with silverware taped to his fingers looked nothing like the bored teenager floating in front of Dipper.

“Well?” the ghost demanded. “What did you summon me for? This is such a waste of my time.”

“I already told you,” Mabel said, sounding frustrated. “I need information about something that happened thirty years ago.”

“I wasn’t even around thirty years ago. And I don’t come from here. I’m from, like, LA. Way classier.”

“So you don’t know of any other ghosts that might be able to help me?”

“Other ghosts?” The ghost examined his fingernails. “So not worth my time. And neither are you.”

“Fine then!” Mabel shouted. “Just leave! I didn’t spend half an hour getting the candles and the spell _exactly right_ just for you to show up and be rude!”

Dipper looked at her in surprise. She put her hands to her head, pushing them into her frazzled hair. It was then Dipper noticed a perfect circle drawn in chalk on the floorboards, with lines crisscrossing in the center and candles placed carefully around the edge. No wonder Mabel was so frustrated. She may have more patience than him, but rarely _that_ much.

“Wow,” the ghost said. “Salty. Show more respect for the dead, small one.”

Mabel let out another frustrated moan. “Look, just—how do I get rid of all this?”

“Get rid of me?” the ghost asked, this time louder. “Oh, I don’t _think_ so. You’ve already _wasted_ my time, and now you’re going to see what happens when people _disrespect me_.”

As the ghost spoke, his voice got lower and more raspy. With a sudden flash of white light, the ghost began to morph. His arms and legs grew spindly. His back hunched over. His hat turned to a fedora.

When the light faded, he looked exactly like the picture in the Journal. The Journal that Dipper then dropped on the floor in shock.

“I haven’t been in the land of the living in thirty years!” the ghost cackled. His voice was old and cracked. “Not ever since the man with that book banished me.” He gestured toward the Journal. “I was once the most feared dream haunter in Gravity Rises. And now I’ll make up for thirty years of nothing!”

A fork shot out from his fingers and hit the wall near Dipper’s ear.

“Um,” Dipper said. “Run?”

“Run,” Mabel agreed.

The twins turned and booked it out of the parlor, the raspy laughter of the Dream Hipster echoing in their ears.


	9. Chapter 9

Mabel’s thoughts churned as she ran beside Dipper. All she had wanted was information, all she had wanted was to summon someone that might know something, and now she had a Category Nine haunting on her hands. Stupid Dream Hipster!

His teenager disguise was even _cute_.

Mabel pushed that thought out of her mind. Dipper was grabbing her hand and pulling her around a corner. “Where—where are we going?” she panted.

“Away from the party,” Dipper said. “We can’t let the ghost ruin it!”

Of course Dipper was thinking about his party.

 _Now, Mabel,_ she chided herself. _That’s not exactly fair. If you had just_ shown up _like you were_ supposed _to_ , _you wouldn’t even be in this situation._

“Dipper,” she said between breaths. “Dipper, I’m sorry. I thought—since Ford was gone—and now—”

“Shh,” Dipper said as they rounded another corner. He stopped and flattened himself against the wall.

“Dip—”

He shushed her again. Why was he—?

“Oh children,” came a rough sing-songy voice. “I know you’re here.”

Oh. Right. The ghost. That she had unleashed on the Mystery Museum.

Dipper edged down the hallway and pulled open a door, motioning for Mabel to join him inside. She obeyed and found herself in a small closet, with Dipper shutting them in.

“Do you really think hiding is the best idea?” she breathed in his ear.

“I don’t know,” Dipper replied. “I’m just playing by ear. Can he really hurt us? I mean, he is a ghost.”

“I can’t hurt you directly,” someone whispered. “But I wouldn’t take comfort from that.”

Mabel and Dipper screamed as the Dream Hipster appeared right next to them.

The Hipster laughed at their fear and started bumping things around in the closet. A stack of board games fell on top of Mabel, and she cried out and fell to the ground, clutching her head. The boxes bounced off her shoulders, all corners and stiff cardboard.

“Mabel!” Dipper shouted.

“Dipper—get the—door!”

Dipper turned the knob and shoved the closet door open. The board games toppled out into the hall as Dipper pulled Mabel to her feet. The two started running again.

“I don’t know why you run,” came the Hipster’s voice behind them. Then it appeared in front of them, cutting off their escape from the hallway. “I’m _everywhere_.”

“This way,” Mabel said, grabbing Dipper’s hand and turning away from the ghost.

“Wait!” Dipper said, resisting her pull. “We can’t go that way. That’s the party!”

“A _party_ , huh?” said the Hipster, this time appearing on Dipper’s left. Dipper immediately threw a punch at it, but it disappeared and reappeared on the other side of Mabel. “Hey, what did the cabbage say to its friend? I don’t always turnip at parties, but when I do, I’m the radish one there!”

Mabel stared at the Hipster. Was that a. . . pun?

“Looks I’m needed elsewhere!” the ghost said.

“ _No!_ ” Dipper shouted. He lunged across Mabel, trying to get to the ghost, but it drifted away from him and started floating down the hall. Mabel and Dipper ran after it.

“Stop right there!” a voice yelled.

Mabel and Dipper stopped and whirled around. The ghost vanished.

Ford was standing at the end of the hallway that connected with the entry way. His posture was imposing, his eyes filled with fury.

“Mabel!” Ford thundered, starting down the hall. “What’s the one thing I asked you not to do tonight?”

Mabel wilted under his gaze. “R-raise the dead,” she whispered.

“And what did you do?”

Her eyes studied the carpet patterns on the floor. “Raise the dead.”

“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper cut in. “Listen, the ghost is gonna get to the party if we don’t stop him!”

The anger faded from Ford’s eyes. “Alright,” he said, his voice controlled. “I’ve banished the Dream Hipster before, and I can do it again. But I’m going to need to get to his summoning circle.”

“I-it’s in the parlor,” Mabel said. “Here.” She fished the chalk out of her pocket and handed it to Ford.

“Good,” Ford said. “Let’s go.”

The Pines all turned toward the parlor just as the Dream Hipster appeared in their path. “Stanford Pines,” it jeered. “I never thought you’d _lift a finger_ to help anyone.” A sixth finger sprouted from his hand, and he waved it at Ford.

Ford growled at it. “We have to hurry, kids,” he said under his breath.

“Why?” Dipper asked.

“Because he’ll melt our brains with bad puns if we don’t. You two hold him off while I get into the parlor.”

Mabel stared up at her great uncle. “How? He can appear wherever he wants!”

“Like right here!” the ghost chimed in, appearing right in front of Ford’s face. Ford jumped, but didn’t scream, and his fist went up and through the ghost’s transparent abdomen.

The ghost recoiled backwards, then disappeared.

“Grunkle Ford, did you just punch him?” Dipper asked in awe.

“He’s not completely intangible,” Ford replied.

The ghost appeared over by the close, where the board games still strewn in the hallway began to glow and float off the ground. One of them hurled through the air, hitting the wall and exploding open. Mabel leapt away as plastic game pieces rained down from the box.

Ford picked up the now-empty cardboard box and handed it to Dipper. “Use this as a shield. Keep him entertained—literally, if you know any puns.”

Dipper cracked his knuckles. “This sounds like a job for Dipper Pines.”

Mabel decided right then she would try to get into the parlor with Ford.

“ _Hey ghost!_ ” Dipper yelled. “I can read your mind!”

The ghost stopped getting ready to throw another box. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! I know your favorite fruit!”

Uh-oh. Mabel braced herself.

“ _Booberries!_ ” Dipper shouted.

The ghost screamed and clutched his hands over his ears.

Mabel blinked.

“Ha!” Ford said. “He can dish it out, but he can’t take it! Dipper! Keep hitting him with ghost puns! Mabel, with me!”

Mabel and Ford raced toward the parlor as Dipper shouted more puns at the wailing ghost behind them.

“You know, I invited a lot of people to my party. But I bet _you_ can only get anyone you can _dig up!_ ”

 Mabel cringed at the joke, but kept running. They were just about to the parlor door when the ghost appeared. This time, picture frames on the wall floated up to meet him.

“You can’t stop me,” he hissed. “Not even with your bad jokes.”

“Your jokes are worse!” Mabel retorted.

“My jokes are unappreciated in their time!”

“They’re unappreciated in any time, you—you—” _Hurry, Mabel, think of a pun!_ “You Dream _Spinster!_ ”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” the Hipster screeched.

“Mabel, duck!” Dipper shouted.

Mabel hit the ground just as a board game soared over her head from behind. She’d forgotten about those.

“Hey!” Dipper shouted. “Careful with those! You wouldn’t want to give anyone a _boo-boo!_ ”

The ghost let out a scream of rage and flew towards Dipper. Ford grabbed Mabel’s hand and pulled her to the parlor door. Just before they slipped inside, Mabel looked over and saw Dipper kick the ghost into the air.

“And what _ghost_ up—” Dipper said, “—must come down!” He jumped up and slammed the Hipster from above with his cardboard box. The ghost hit the ground, his arms disappearing halfway through the floorboards.

Ford pulled Mabel inside the parlor, and she lost sight of Dipper.

“Mabel, did you get the instructions out of the Journal?” Ford asked, rushing over to the summoning circle and surveying the lines Mabel had drawn within.

“Y-yes.” Her eyes scanned the room and found the Journal on the floor a few feet away. “Here!” She thrust it at Ford.

Ford opened the Journal to the page on summoning ghosts and left it on the floor as he stepped into the center of the summoning circle. “Okay,” he said, “drag that candle out an inch or so.”

Mabel hurried to the candle he was pointing at and did as he said. She heard an enraged scream from out in the hallway.

Ford knelt down and started rubbing at the chalk on the floor with his sleeve. “Help me erase this line.”

The two rubbed at the line until it was a white smudge on the wood. Ford directed her to other lines that needed to be erased and candles that needed to be moved while he drew new lines.

“ _Mabel, Ford, look out!_ ” Dipper shouted from outside.

The ghost burst into the parlor.

“Mabel! Hold it off! I’m almost done!”

Hold it off? Mabel didn’t know any puns! Didn’t Ford hear her horrible attempt at one out in the hallway?

She racked her brains for something, anything, that she’d heard or seen before.

And then it came to her. Something she had seen once on the wrapper of a _Chuckly Toffee_ bar.

“Hey, Dream Hipster!”

It threw a picture at her, and she dodged it.

“You look sad!”

It disappeared and reappeared behind her. She whirled around to face it.

“Maybe you should get on an elevator!”

The ghost snarled at her and got ready to throw another picture frame.

“ _It might lift your spirits!”_

The ghost screamed. The pictures dropped to the floor.

Ford finished the line he was drawing.

The parlor erupted into blue-white light that radiated from the lines of chalk at Ford’s feet. Ford stepped out of the circle, and the Dream Hipster started floating towards the circle. He shrieked and thrashed, and Mabel realized it was drawing him in.

“No! You can’t contain me! Stop this!”

Ford folded his arms and stared down the struggling ghost. “I banish you,” he said. “And your bad puns! Again!”

The ghost let out a final scream as he entered the circle’s boundaries.

Then he disappeared for good.

The light from the summoning circle went out, along with the candles. The parlor was plunged into darkness.

Until Dipper came to the doorway turned on the light. “You did it!”

Mabel and Ford looked at each other, then to Dipper.

“Okay,” Mabel said, “I went over a lot of ideas in my head about what might happen tonight. But a mainstream-hating, pun-loving ghost with a vengeance was _not_ one of them.”

There was a moment of silence.

And then Ford started to laugh.

It was loud and startling, but sounded sincere. Dipper joined in, and then Mabel. The three of them must have spent a full minute just standing there in the parlor, laughing hysterically.

Ford was the first one to calm down. “Mabel. . . what exactly happened here?”

The laughter died in Mabel’s throat.

“I, um,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “I wanted—so badly to—to know what was going on with the basement and that triangle machine thing and—and all that, so I—I thought if I summoned a ghost—it might know something—I—I’m sorry, Grunkle Ford, I—I shouldn’t have disobeyed you.”

Ford didn’t reply for a while. Mabel stared at the floor.

“Oh, Mabel,” Ford finally said, his voice soft.

She looked up at him. He was actually smiling.

“You remind me of myself when I was younger. I should have known better than to underestimate a scientist with a question.”

Mabel felt her heart start to flutter from the praise. “I-I’m no scientist.”

“Problem,” Ford said. “Stanford isn’t giving any answers. Hypothesis. There’s a ghost somewhere that can get me the information I need. Experiment. Summon the ghost. Result?” He looked to Mabel, waiting for an answer.

“A lot of really bad puns,” she tried.

Ford chuckled. “Yes.” Then he sighed. “Mabel, I keep information to myself for a reason. And that reason is keeping you and your brother safe. I know a lot about Gravity Rises, yes, but that information came with a cost. A dear one.”

Mabel forced herself to keep eye contact.

“I don’t want you getting hurt like I have,” Ford continued. “But I should have seen the kindred spirit to me you truly are. You won’t stop in your search for knowledge simply because there are risks. I’ve seen that before. I saw that tonight. You may have only come up with a joke, but you made it possible for me to banish the Dream Hipster again.”

He paused. “If you still want to know, I can tell you about the basement to the Museum.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Ford nodded. “It won’t be pleasant. It’s been painful to remember. But. . . I may need your help, moving forward. So yes. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Mabel felt like screeching or running around the room or shaking Dipper’s shoulders violently as she screamed in his face. But she didn’t do any of those things, just stood there staring at her great uncle in shock.

“But _first_ ,” Dipper cut in. “There’s still a party going on!”

Mabel and Ford looked at him and blinked. Right.

“And you both _promised_ you would come,” Dipper reminded them. “I bet Melody is getting the dances started right now!”

“Okay,” Mabel said. “Party first, answers second.”

Dipper’s face lit up. “Yay! Thanks, Mabel!”

“Of course, bro,” she said, moving to put an arm around his shoulder. “I already disrupted your party with this whole ghost fiasco. Plus I did promise.”

The twins turned to go.

“Wait,” Ford said. “What about this mess?”

Mabel and Dipper stared at him.

“Clean it up in the morning?” Dipper tried, cracking a smile.

Ford gave him a look of disapproval. But it didn’t last long. “Alright,” he conceded. “Clean it up in the morning.”

And with that, the Pines family left the parlor and went triumphantly together to join the party.


	10. Chapter 10

Three hours, endless dances, and way too much punch later, Mabel sat on the old couch in the party room and let out a deep, contented sigh.

The last of the guests had just left the party. Melody was putting her DJ equipment away, and Dipper was gathering up what was left of the food. Mabel had been put in charge of pulling down streamers and bunches of balloons, but she needed a moment to rest first.

The party had been pretty fun. Robbie brought all of his friends who brought all of their friends, so there were a lot of high schoolers, but there were a fair amount of middle schoolers too. Mabel had mostly stayed near Dipper, who was always with Candy and Greyson but also made time for his other guests. At one point, though, Robbie had called her over, and Mabel had _actually gotten to dance with teenagers_. It was terrifying. And amazing. And exhausting.

“Tuckered out?”

Mabel opened her half-closed eyes to see Ford looking down at her. “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know how you guys are still on your feet.”

Then again, Ford hadn’t done much dancing. Or any, really.

“I’m going to go start cleaning up our ghost mess before Melody sees it. Come find me when you’re done in here, alright?”

Mabel was surprised. Based on all the cleaning she and Dipper had done, on top of the work Melody did to keep the Mystery Museum running, she had assumed Ford had never lifted a spray bottle in his life.

“O-oh, um, I made the summoning circle. I can clean it up.”

“No, it’s alright. Stay in here and help Melody and your brother.”

“Okay.”

Ford left, and Mabel sat on the couch for a few more minutes before forcing herself to her feet and starting her chore. It was already late, and the clean-up took another hour (with some of the mess still left when Melody declared them done for the night), but Mabel soon felt wide awake as she remembered what came next.

 _Answers_.

Once the twins were released from their chores, Mabel grabbed Dipper by the arm and raced out of the party room. “Come on, come on, come on! Ford’s finally gonna tell us!”

“Woah, Mabel, wait a sec!” Dipper twisted out of her grip. She looked back at him in confusion.

Dipper went back to the party room and called to Melody from the top of the stairs. “Melody, Ford agreed to tell us what the whole basement thing is about. Come here!”

So a minute later, Mabel, Dipper, and Melody all sat around the fire in the living room, waiting for Ford’s explanation.

Ford took a deep breath.

“To begin,” he said, “I hope you all understand why I’ve been so reclusive these past few days. Before Mabel returned my Journal to me, I had. . . forgotten much about my past. All I knew was that I was in a backwards town with a plethora of things to research, but no interest in researching them. It wasn’t until this week that I remembered why. And so I needed a few days, to remember, and to process everything. I wasn’t sure if I could trust any of you with this information, but. . . now I have reason to believe I can.”

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said. “I shouldn’t have been so impatient about it all.”

Ford accepted her apology with a nod, and then continued. “I care about all of you. I want to keep you safe.” His tone was smooth and level,  but Mabel had a feeling the words were hard for him to say. She cherished them because of that. “But after what happened with Pacifica Pleasure, I’m not sure if my vain attempts to keep you safe will have any effects. Just know, however, that I’ve lost much because of my own folly. I’ve taken risks I shouldn’t have taken. And I don’t want to repeat those mistakes with all of you.”

 _So what’s the thing in the basement?_ Mabel wanted to say. But she didn’t rush him. He had to tell the story at his own pace.

“Thirty-six years ago,” Ford said, “I arrived in Gravity Rises. I studied the paranormal here for six years. I wrote three Journals full of my discoveries. But that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to figure out where it all came from. So I decided to build an interdimensional portal.”

Mabel gasped. “The triangle thing! With the hole in the center!”

Ford nodded. “The construction went along fine, but then it came time to test it. My assistant and I—”

“You had an assistant?” Dipper asked. “Is that Lee?”

“No,” Ford says. “I. . . I don’t recall much about my assistant. He’s in my Journal.”

“The guy you just called F?” Mabel asked.

“Yes. I don’t even remember his full name. I didn’t even remember his existence until reading the Journal again. A lot of things are still. . . still hazy.”

“Why do you think you forgot so much?” Melody wondered.

“I don’t know,” Ford replied. “But there are some things I do remember. My assistant F and I were doing just fine on the project, but then something happened. I don’t remember what. Something happened that made me lose trust in F. I needed someone else. So I called my brother, and begged him to come to Gravity Rises.”

Silence.

“You have a brother?”

Dipper was the one who actually said it, but they all thought it in that exact tone of shock.

“Had,” Ford said.

And that’s when Mabel realized why Ford had been crying that night in the basement.

“His name was Stanley,” Ford said. The room was more hushed, more subdued, as Mabel, Dipper, and Melody all listened intently. “Sometimes I called him Lee for short. He was my twin.”

Mabel gasped softly.

“We hadn’t seen each other in years. But he came. Despite it all, he came.” Ford took another deep breath. “That day, when we tested the portal. . . something went wrong. We weren’t cautious enough, the portal wasn’t stable yet. But we—I—was so impatient that I took the risk anyway. And that day. . .

“That day, Stanley fell into the portal.”

Nobody seemed to breathe.

Ford’s voice trembled as he continued. “Stanley fell into the portal, and then it shut down. It wouldn’t turn back on. And the next morning. . . if my fuzzy memory is correct, the next morning F was gone, and so were my Journals.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “He stole them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s possible he and the Journals didn’t disappear at the same time.” Ford grimaced. “I hate being unable to trust my own memory, but it’s not clear enough to be sure.”

“And that’s when you forgot everything?” Dipper asked.

“Yes. My memories clear up after that. I remember being alone in my home, depressed and wondering why I ever tried to study the supernatural. And. . . after that, I never gave another thought to my Journals, or to the portal, or to F, or. . . or to my brother. I built the vending machine in front of the entrance to the basement, I turned my house into a tourist trap because the grant money I’d gotten from college was running out. I. . . I lost myself. I lost myself, the day I lost my brother.”

The room was completely silent after that. A heavy weight had descended on Mabel’s chest. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Ford had a brother. Ford had a twin brother. Ford had a lost twin brother. _Ford had a twin brother and he lost him._

And suddenly Mabel was very, very aware of Dipper clutching her hand.

Ford noticed it too. “So you see,” he said quietly. “That’s why I want to keep you safe. I couldn’t bear to see one of you lose their twin too.”

Mabel wanted to cry, but her eyes remained dry. She was too horrified to cry. If she cried, it meant she could imagine losing Dipper in the first place. And she couldn’t.

“That won’t happen,” Dipper said. “We won’t let that happen. Right, Mabel?”

“Right,” she said. Her voice was shaky.

“Mr. Pines.”

They all turned to Melody.

“Mr. Pines,” she repeated. “If your brother is on the other side of the portal, isn’t there a chance he’s still alive?”

Ford sighed. “I don’t know. We didn’t know what was on the other side of the portal. He could be alive and healthy, or. . . Well, who knows what has happened in thirty years.”

“There has to be a way to turn on the portal again,” Dipper said. “There has to be a way to get Stanley back! Right?”

Mabel frowned. Something stirred in the back of her mind.

“Do you think you could fix the portal, Mr. Pines?” Melody asked.

And then it clicked.

Mabel gasped. “The Journal!”

She pulled it out from her jacket and slammed it onto the ground, flipping through the pages so fast she got a paper cut. “Here!” she exclaimed, jabbing at the page with her other hand while sucking on her cut finger.

The page she was pointing to showed an enlarged diagram, like it had been cut out of a larger picture. A large half circle sat on the top half of the page, surrounded by strange symbols and futuristic-looking lines. A path leading from the circle opened out into another shape, like an arrowhead jutting up from the bottom right corner of the page.

“I couldn’t figure out what this was,” Mabel said, “but now I can see it. This—” she pointed to the arrowhead “—is part of the portal, right? The top corner?”

Ford nodded. “I spread the instructions for the portal out between all three Journals to keep the information safe. But I can’t remember any of it on my own, and we don’t have the other two Journals.”

“Then we just have to find them!” Dipper said. “They’ve gotta be around town somewhere, right? Or maybe they’re hidden in the forest too!” 

“Maybe,” Ford said. He sounded doubtful.

Mabel frowned. “Grunkle Ford, why do you seem so hesitant about this? We might be able to get your brother back!”

Ford turned his sad gaze to her. “I. . . I appreciate your enthusiasm, kids, but. . . taking unnecessary risks is what got my brother on the other side of that portal in the first place. Who knows where the other two Journals are or what perils we’ll have to go through to get them? Who knows what we’ll find when we reactivate the portal? Who knows if Stanley is even on the other side?”

“We won’t know any of those things if we don’t try,” Mabel said. “Please, Grunkle Ford, this _is_ a necessary risk. If—if Dipper was on the other side of a portal and I didn’t know if he was—if he was dead or alive—”

Dipper put an arm around her, as if to remind her he was still there.

“—then I would be doing everything I could to get him back, risk or no risk. If you don’t try to get your brother back, who knows if it would have worked?”

“Yeah,” Dipper said. “You can’t just abandon hope, not now that we actually have some! Last week you couldn’t even remember Stanley. Now we have a chance at getting him back!”

Ford looked at the twins, a pained expression on his face. “Melody?” he asked.

She started. “Oh. I agree with the twins, Mr. Pines. I think you should try to get Stanley back.”

They all waited as Ford thought.

“I want to see Stanley again more than anything,” Ford finally said. “But I could never live with myself if I lost one of you in the process of getting him back.”

“We’ll be careful,” Mabel promised.

“We’ve made it through tough situations before!” Dipper pointed out.

“And,” Melody finished, “we’ve done it together.”

Ford gazed around at all of them, and Mabel realized he’d made the decision long ago to try to rescue Stanley. He just needed his family to confirm he was doing the right thing.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll do it.”

Dipper cheered. Melody clapped. Mabel just smiled.

“We’ll find the Journals,” Ford said, “and then activate the portal again. We’ll get Stanley back, or at the very least we’ll find out what happened to him.” The more he spoke, the stronger his voice got.

“And we’ll do it together,” Mabel added. “We’ll trust each other.”

He looked at her.

“Yes,” he said. “Together. With trust.”

And at that moment, with the three Pines and their honorary fourth member all together in one room, united by a common goal, Mabel suddenly felt so full of love she could burst.

So she grabbed Dipper’s hand one more time, to remind herself that she was there. To remind herself that he loved her. That she loved him.

That they were going to reunite another set of twins, and they were going to do it together.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn’t until a few minutes after their conversation about Stanley that Dipper remembered.

“Hey, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper said. “I forgot to ask. What happened when you went to go see Pacifica?”

The smile left Ford’s eyes.

“Ford?” Mabel asked. “What happened?”

It took a while before he spoke.

“She was gone,” Ford said.

“ _What?_ ” Dipper suddenly felt dizzy. Was she out by herself? Was she on her way here? She couldn’t come back, she couldn’t, she—

“We got to her house, but no one answered the door. Gideon tried the knob, and it was open. When we went inside. . . no one was there.”

“Not even her parents?” Mabel whispered.

“No one. We looked all over the house. Pacifica’s room was a mess, her parents’ room was somewhat disorderly. But there was nobody to be seen anywhere.”

The mood from before had almost completely evaporated now.

“What does this mean?” Melody asked.

“I don’t know,” Ford said. “Gideon was extremely upset about it. I asked what I could do to help, and he told me to leave him alone.”

“Well that was rude of him,” Mabel said hotly, “after you went to help him and everything.”

“He was as polite as he could be after finding out his friend was missing,” Ford said softly.

Mabel didn’t respond.

“So what do we do?” Dipper asked. He didn’t want to go looking for Pacifica, not by any means. But if she was out there somewhere, and even crazier than before. . . .

“We stay on our guard,” Ford said. “But we focus on finding the Journals. Now that Pacifica doesn’t have her amulet, I don’t believe she can be as much of a threat as she has been in the past. But we will be cautious in case she does strike again.”

“Her parents are gone too,” Mabel said. “So maybe they’re with her.”

“Or maybe she did something to them,” Dipper said. The thought made his stomach churn.

“We’re not going to worry about it,” Ford said firmly. “We’ll keep an eye out, but we won’t let fear hold us back. If Pacifica attacks, we’ll be ready for her.”

 Mabel squeezed Dipper’s hand. He stared at the floor.

He couldn’t let Pacifica get to him again. He couldn’t let her separate him from Mabel.

He squeezed Mabel’s hand back.

Never again.

~~~~~

Blind Lincoln did not sleep well that night, and that was before Bill Cipher appeared in his dreams.

Lincoln sat on a grassy hill, looking up at the stars. They winked at him, bright white dots splayed against a deep blue and purple blanket that stretched across as far as the eye could see. The stars were beautiful, and Lincoln found himself mesmerized by them.

Until he noticed a group of stars forming the shape of a triangle.

More and more stars appeared, filling out the lines of the triangle, drawing a bow tie at the bottom, showing an eye at the top. The stars grew brighter and brighter, until their light melted together and Lincoln could no longer see the individual dots. The light faded from white to yellow.

And Bill Cipher appeared.

Lincoln immediately realized he was in a dream. One benefit of conversing with Bill in the mindscape was the ability to become lucid easily. He stood up as Bill floated toward him.

“Lord Cipher?” he asked. “To what do I owe this visit? Is there sensitive information we did not discuss yesterday?”

“ **Yes** ,” Cipher replied, without so much as a greeting. “In fact, **tonight** could mark the beginning of our **greatest triumph** , or our **gravest failure**.”

“What do you mean?”

“The **time** is coming, **Blind Eye** , when all my **plans** will **finally** be fulfilled.”

Lincoln felt a dream heartbeat pounding in his chest. “It is?”

“ **Yes**. I will finally be **rid** of these bonds. And **you** will be the one to **help** me **succeed**.”

Lincoln bowed low. “Of course, Lord Cipher. I am your humble servant.”

Bill laughed. “Oh, **please**. We **both** know you’re just **impatient** to get me **out** of this dimension.”

Most of the time, Lincoln and Bill would pretend to be civil towards one another. Apparently not tonight.

“Yes,” Blind Lincoln said dryly, “I’m quite looking forward to a life of peace.”

“You’ll **get** it,” Bill said. “But I have a **job** for you.”

Lincoln felt his hopes rise. “Aside from caring for the Pleasure child?”

“ **Nope!** ” Bill replied. “That **is** the job. Take **care** of her, **groom** her to be a **future leader** of the Order. And, **most importantly** , keep her **away** from the **Pines family**.”

Lincoln frowned. “The Pines family? You mean the ones in the Mystery Museum at the edge of town?”

“ **Yes.** Keep **Pacifica** away from them. Keep **them** away from the Order. And keep **yourself** away while you’re at it.”

“Why?”

“Because the **Pines** are about to get involved **over their heads** in something they **don’t understand**. They **cannot** find out about the Order at **all costs**. And if **Pacifica** were to get near them, **well** , let’s just say we will **not** let that happen. And to keep the **Order** secret, **you** must stay out of **sight** as **well**.”

Lincoln stayed out of sight anyway. The only people who knew of his existence were the members of the Order and the Northwests. This specific order from Bill to stay away from this particular family was intriguing.

“ **Well**? Are you **planning** to **obey** me?”

“Yes,” Lincoln said. He added sarcastically, “I am your servant, after all. A servant who will do everything to help you depart from my life.”

Bill laughed again, longer this time. “It’s **funny** how **disillusioned** you are,” he said to Lincoln. “You sure can **make me laugh**.”

“I try. And what will you do, while I stay out of sight and babysit the insane child?”

“I think you’ll **like** her a **lot** more than you **imagine** ,” Bill replied.

“Sure. So what will you be doing?”

“ **I** will be taking **care** of the **Pines** situation **myself** ,” Bill declared. “Without **anyone** to get **in my way**. Can I **rely** on you to **follow** my instructions?”

Lincoln bowed again, though not nearly as deeply as before. “Your wish is my command.”

“ **Good**.” Bill’s glow brightened. “I **knew** I could **count** on **you**. You’re a **good leader** of the **Order** , **Blind Eye**.”

“Thank you.”

“ **Yes**. . . You’re **far** more **useful** to me than you **even know**.”

And with that, Bill Cipher disappeared, leaving nothing but a constellation in the night sky shaped like a one-eyed triangle.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Season Two!


End file.
